Crepúsculo
by Katja
Summary: Ginny Weasley's life is about to fall apart, and it's all because of her worst enemy.
1. Being There

Title: Crepúsculo (1/?)  
  
Author Name: Katja  
  
Author Email: katja021@yahoo.com  
  
Category: Romance/General  
  
Keywords: Ginny 6th year  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Spoilers: mostly CoS but all books to be safe  
  
Summary: Beneath the surface of Ginny Weasley's seemingly perfect life lurk a myriad of old problems that combine to make her sixth year a volatile accident waiting to happen.and her worst enemy controls the spark that could set it all aflame.  
  
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The chapter title (Being There) comes from the movie of the same name and has absolutely nothing to do with the plot of this story.  
  
A/N: Dedicated to Soz for the beta, and for making me laugh hysterically (what would I do without that ripe kumquat line??). One of these days we WILL find a bratwurst magnet.  
  
Crepúsculo  
  
Chapter 1  
  
Being There  
  
Molly Weasley clutched her handbag and bellowed over the din of the train, "Have a wonderful year, Harry and Hermione! As for you two, be good! Try to stay out of trouble, Ron! And Ginny...well, keep an eye on your brother!"  
  
Ginny and Ron exchanged a look. They waved at their mother as the train whistled and pulled out of Kings Cross station. As soon as their mother faded out of sight Ron slumped down in his seat.  
  
"Mum worries too much. Fred and George managed to graduate without getting expelled, and they got in trouble way more often than we ever have! Isn't that enough proof that I'll survive Hogwarts?" Ron's face glowed with the beginnings of a temper tantrum.  
  
Ginny wasn't so sure, seeing as the Wonder Trio attracted trouble the way a garbage truck attracts flies, but knew better than to argue with her brother when his friends would probably take care of it for her.  
  
Sure enough, "Except, when we caught doing something, we really get caught," Hermione pointed out.  
  
Ron's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean by that?"  
  
"Well, Fred and George were pranksters. Everyone expected them to get in trouble all the time. But when we get caught breaking rules we lose a lot of points."  
  
"Oh, it's all about the points, is it? Wouldn't want to lose any points for Gryffindor, would we? And it's not like you don't win them all back for us, sucking up to all the teachers."  
  
Everyone knew Ron had extremely little tact when angry, but-- "That was low, Ron, and it's not true either. How exactly was I supposed to win back the 200 points you and Harry lost last year when you let the Mexican Biting Gecko loose in the school? Terrorized the fourth floor for two weeks, that thing, and three students lost body parts."  
  
"Madam Pomfrey reattached all the fingers in the end," Harry attempted to add to the conversation, to which Ron and Hermione replied in kind: "You stay out of this!"  
  
Figuring that this situation was bound to get worse before it got better, Ginny began to inch her way towards the door. Harry eyed her jealously. Bet he wished he'd thought of this.  
  
"How were we supposed to know Hagrid had locked it in the broom closet? I mean, of all the places to keep a Mexican Biting Gecko."  
  
"You should have learned by now that poking around the whole school is bound to get you into some kind of trouble, Ron!" Hermione fumed. "Goodness knows you've gotten in enough detentions from it!"  
  
"We aren't even responsible for it most of the time! We get in trouble for things, but Malfoy's always the one who--"  
  
Ginny had reached the door, but, unfortunately, just as she reached for the handle the door burst open, squishing her behind it.  
  
"Malfoy's always the one who what, Weasley?" said Draco Malfoy, arriving on the scene with that impeccable timing Ginny had always hated about his family. He stepped aside to let in his two cronies, or perhaps small mountains, Crabbe and Goyle, who possessed formidable intimidation skills but weren't nearly as talented when it came to the finer points of life, like conversation.  
  
"Speak of the devil," Harry muttered, then continued in a louder voice, "What do you want, Malfoy?"  
  
"I heard my name and I was curious as to what you had to say about me." He gave a deceptive smile.  
  
"That doesn't explain what you were doing listening in on our conversation in the first place," Hermione retorted.  
  
"Our private conversation," Ron enlightened.  
  
Malfoy said something in response but Ginny didn't hear it. During the whole exchange she had been attempting escape from behind the door, but had found, to her dismay, that one of Malfoy's trolls-she thought it might be Goyle, but she'd never bothered to learn which was which-was standing directly in front of the door, blocking her exit. She tried to move out from behind the door without alerting Goyle/Crabbe of her presence, quickly realized the futility of her efforts, gulped, and pushed against the door as hard as she could, causing Goyle/Crabbe to pitch forward with all the grace of a rolling boulder. He regained his footing almost immediately, though, just in time to grab Ginny roughly by the hair and rope an arm around her neck. She would have admired his agility except that she was choking.  
  
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Malfoy moving purposefully towards her and that egged Ron into action. He cursed Goyle/Crabbe with a convenient Rictusempra, causing the oaf to grunt in surprise and release his death grip on Ginny's throat. She gasped in breath and massaged her aching neck, distantly aware that the compartment had erupted in sparks of blue and red as hexes and curses flew left and right.  
  
Ginny tried to move out of the line of fire, only to have someone fall into her with enough force to knock her flat on her back. Her already choking-addled brain registered blond hair before she passed out.  
  
When Ginny came to, Malfoy and the trolls were gone. She blinked a few times and tried to sit up.  
  
"No, no, lie back down," came Hermione's voice from somewhere above her. "You shouldn't move just yet. You got knocked out pretty badly."  
  
Ginny obeyed then asked groggily, "How long was I out for?"  
  
"Not long. Five minutes maybe. Harry and I just finished dragging Malfoy off you, actually. We dumped him in the compartment next door. Harry is over there guarding him. Malfoy's still unconscious. I think Harry hit him pretty hard."  
  
"So Harry's okay. And Ron?"  
  
Hermione's face floated into view as the older girl sat down next to Ginny. "Ron's out cold. I think Goyle did it, or maybe it was Crabbe. I can't tell them apart. He didn't bother with his wand; just beat him upside the head with his fist."  
  
"I don't know which is which either," Ginny admitted with a grin.  
  
"Are you feeling okay now, Ginny?"  
  
Ginny struggled to sit up, blithely ignoring the headache that threatened to split her head open. She flashed Hermione a grin. "I'm fine."  
  
Hermione sucked in her breath. "Oh, Ginny, that doesn't look good."  
  
"What?"  
  
Hermione gingerly touched her fingertips to a spot on Ginny's jawbone just below her left ear. Even the gentle touch made Ginny wince. "Here, look," Hermione said, whipping out a small mirror.  
  
Ginny took it from Hermione and held it up to the side of her head. The blossoming purple bruise filled the glass immediately. She shrugged. "I'll wear my hair down," she said. "Nobody will even know it's there."  
  
"You should go to Madam Pomfrey. She can heal it for you."  
  
"And tell her we were fighting with the Slytherins?"  
  
"You could tell her you fell and hit your head."  
  
Ginny rewarded that sentence with a gaze of narrow-eyed skepticism. "Right, Hermione, fell exactly so I got a fist-sized bruise beneath my ear? Great plan. Is Madam Pomfrey even on the train?"  
  
"Oh," Hermione deflated. "Good point."  
  
"Besides, you heard my mother. I wouldn't want to get Ron in trouble, if anyone found out we were in a fight with Malfoy and Company."  
  
Hermione considered, favoring Ron with a look that would have turned him scarlet, had he been conscious.  
  
"Right then," Ginny said, realizing that if she didn't leave the compartment real soon Hermione's rose-colored gaze upon her brother was going to make her violently ill. "I'm going for a walk, Hermione. I'll be back later." She tugged her hair out of its ponytail and let it fall loose about her shoulders.  
  
Ginny reached the door. "Bye, Hermione." She didn't think Hermione was even going to respond, she was so far into her fluffy pink daydreams of frolicking on the beach with Ron, or something equally gag-inducing, but Hermione said an absent-minded, "Goodbye," without removing her eyes from their quarry.  
  
Ginny closed the door behind her and exhaled deeply with her eyes shut. Funny how dreams change. For most of her years at Hogwarts she'd wanted nothing more than for Hermione and Ron to fall in love, so she would fall in love with Harry. They were meant for each other; it had to be true. It amazed her, now, that she had ever been so naïve. She had believed in fairy tales, once upon a time.  
  
With no particular objective Ginny began to wonder towards the front of the train, where most of the students in her year sat. Her family had arrived at Kings Cross so late that the only available compartment was the one she'd shared with the Wonder Trio, and experience she never enjoyed. Separated from each other, she found Ron and Hermione and, yes, Harry, too, perfectly easy to talk to, but she liked being around the three of them together even less than she liked Snape's class. Chopping Siberian Death Slugs in Snape's class. They meant no harm to anyone; for all the talk of bravery Ginny had found the majority of Gryffindor House to be about as purposefully dangerous as a baby bunny; but Harry, Ron and Hermione formed such a tightly woven group that feelings of exclusion were absolutely inevitable. She imagined that the Wonder Trio's assorted ex-girlfriends and -boyfriends felt exactly the same way, and it hurt worse that they didn't mean to make anyone feel left out than it would have if they had intended to do so. They were the way they were. They didn't know any better and so couldn't possibly change it.  
  
Ginny moved into the next car and peered into the first compartment. Five faces met her gaze, two boys and three girls, all of them familiar.  
  
"Ginny!" squealed a pretty brown-haired girl and propelled herself across the compartment to envelop Ginny in a tight hug.  
  
"Hi, Cora," Ginny said with a smile.  
  
Cora Delera stepped back, grasping Ginny's upper arms in her slender little hands. "That's all I get after not seeing you for an entire summer?" She attempted an injured expression, failed miserably, and continued, "Anyway, Ginny, it's so good to see you," her pale eyes sparkling.  
  
"You too, Cor." Ginny redirected her smile at the remaining four occupants of the compartment.  
  
Maggie Hanahan, a Gryffindor 6th year like Ginny and Cora, said hello, as did her 6th year Ravenclaw boyfriend, Mike Martin. Mike's arm was wrapped around Maggie's shoulders and both of them were completely at ease in that position around their friends.  
  
Laraby Wilkinson, the third girl in the group, was also in Ginny's dorm. "So, Ginny," she began with an encouraging wink, "what did you do this summer?" Ginny knew that sugarcoated voice meant she'd love a little juicy gossip.  
  
Ginny flashed her a grin but didn't even attempt to hide the annoyance in her eyes. "Well, Lara"-Laraby hated the nickname; Ginny used it as often as she could-"maybe I spent most of my summer at a certain castle in Ireland."  
  
Laraby sucked in her breath. "You don't mean.with Seamus Finnegan?"  
  
"Maybe," Ginny said in a confiding tone. "And maybe you're looking at his girlfriend."  
  
Maybe. Or maybe not. Behind the blonde girl's back Ginny saw Cora stiffling her sniggers.  
  
"I thought you two broke up before the end of school." Laraby's voice was confident, but her blue eyes revealed a mixed bag of disbelief that she could possibly be behind in gossip and hope that Ginny would share something with her that nobody else knew. Laraby liked getting the inside scoop on things; she'd make a wonderful, if annoying, reporter.  
  
"Is that what you thought?" Ginny replied quizzically. Cora was trying so hard not to laugh out loud that she was turning purple from exertion. Laraby really would swallow anything Ginny fed her.  
  
Laraby's eyes grew huge. "I've got to go talk to Lavender," she said, sounding somewhat awestruck. She scooted out of the compartment.  
  
The second Laraby closed the door behind her, the last person in the compartment made his presence known. "Really, Ginny," he said, "you shouldn't bait Laraby like that. It's too cruel." But from his dancing green eyes and mocking tone Ginny knew that he would do the same. And did, of course. There weren't many things Jeremy Hayden enjoyed more.  
  
"Oh, but it's such fun," Ginny whined.  
  
"Honestly, you two should just get married already," Cora put in with a roll of her eyes. "It'd make teasing each other that much more convenient."  
  
Jeremy and Ginny looked at Cora, looked at each other, and smile mischievously. Without warning Jeremy dropped to one knee and grasped Ginny's hands. With an overdone, earnest smile, he began, "Virginia Anne Weasley, I've loved you since the moment I met you. No other woman had ever come close to meaning what you mean to me. If you let me I will treat you like the princess you are for the rest of your life. Ginny, will you be my wife?"  
  
Ginny exhaled a blissful sigh. "Oh, Jeremy, of course I will!"  
  
He dipped her and kissed her in a display of mock passion.  
  
Cora burst into a round of applause. Maggie and Mike, however, hadn't even noticed the comedy. They were having far too much fun snogging each other senseless.  
  
Jeremy wrinkled his nose. "Somebody should pry those two apart. They're missing out on my comedic genius."  
  
Cora smirked, an expression that seemed drastically out of place on her pretty face. "You know they'd be back at it in a few minutes anyway."  
  
"Have you been at the shop recently, Jeremy?" Ginny asked, referring to the twins' joke shop, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. "You sound like you've been taking lessons from the pros."  
  
He affected a pained expression. "I'm hurt, Gin, that you'd accuse me of copying your brothers. My humor is entirely my own."  
  
Ginny rolled her eyes and took the seat beside Cora.  
  
"Although they are geniuses," Jeremy added as he sat down, just in time to be hit in the arm by a flailing limb that belonged to either Mike or Maggie, Ginny couldn't tell which. Ginny, Cora and Jeremy stared at the writhing mass, which finally came up for air and separated into two separate people once again.  
  
"Did we miss something?" Mike asked, upon noticing the expectant silence.  
  
Cora, Jeremy and Ginny looked at each other and laughed till tears ran down their cheeks.  
  
"What's so funny?" Maggie looked puzzled.  
  
Howling with laughter, Ginny finally got out, "You two need to spend a little time apart or you'll merge into one person entirely. MaggieandMike."  
  
From the glance that passed between the two of them it seemed that Maggie and Mike wouldn't view such a development as a bad thing.  
  
"You're hopeless," Cora intoned, and Ginny nodded her agreement.  
  
"I'd better head back to my compartment," Ginny said. "We're almost there."  
  
Jeremy jumped up and said, "I'll walk you back." He stood by the door expectantly and Ginny got up, feeling Cora's eyes on her back. From her gaze Ginny knew Cora had wanted to walk her back so that they could talk by themselves, but Jeremy had beaten her to it. Cora wouldn't tell Jeremy she'd been waiting all afternoon to talk to Ginny, though Ginny could tell from the intensity of Cora's eyes that she had obviously been waiting for just that. Cora, however, was nothing if not graceful.  
  
Later, Cora, Ginny promised silently. We'll have plenty of time to talk tonight.  
  
She followed Jeremy out of the compartment and into the hall. Once out of eyesight from the compartment, Jeremy turned to face Ginny and said, "I've been waiting to get you alone all afternoon."  
  
Ginny gaped. "Why?" she asked, genuine surprise coloring her voice.  
  
"So I could do this," he replied, and kissed her hard on the mouth. After a moment he stepped back and she muttered something unintelligible, feeling more than slightly shell-shocked. She stared at him, bug-eyed, stared at him a little more, and finally managed to gasp, "What was that for?"  
  
A second later she regretted her choice of words. That made it sound like she hadn't been expecting the kiss, which she quite frankly hadn't, but also that she hadn't liked it. She had liked it, had liked it a lot, but she really did need more warning than that. Their kiss earlier had been part of the act, an overly slopping thing meant to enhance the comedic effect, but this kiss just now had felt very sincere. Her confusion stemmed mainly from the fact that, last time she'd checked, her relationship with Jeremy was well into the platonic range of the feelings meter. Sure, the needle had pointed to "friends-with-benefits" frequently in the past, and even to "actually dating" when the mood struck them, but when the needle made a rapid 180-degree turn from "just friends" to "kissing you like I love you," Ginny preferred to know it was coming.  
  
Her poor addled brain, already confused by near-suffocation and a large bump to the jawbone, really didn't need the additional effort of pondering her.friendship? friends-with-benefits-ship? relationship? with Jeremy Hayden right now. She could barely handle all the confusion before Jeremy had kissed her. But now.  
  
It took Ginny's brain, the poor thing, a good deal longer than it should have to realize two details: first, that, far from being hurt or surprised at Ginny's reaction to his kiss, Jeremy hadn't actually responded at all; and, second, that Jeremy was, in fact, staring with great interest at an unknown object on the hallway floor.  
  
Oh.  
  
Ginny looked at the floor, got dizzy, and plopped down against the wall. "What are you looking at, Jer?"  
  
Her use of his nickname ordinarily would have merited her a grin but Jeremy instead looked up with a puzzled countenance. "Have you ever seen this necklace before, Ginny?" He held up said necklace for her to examine, its fine silver chain entwined around his fingers. From the chain hung a polished ellipse of an unfamiliar stone, hazy periwinkle in color with hints of silver and gray flickering within it, set against a subtle, elegant silver back. It seemed very expensive.  
  
Ginny stared at it, transfixed. "No, I've never seen it before.why?"  
  
"Well, for one thing, it fell out of your pocket."  
  
"My rich Irish boyfriend could have slipped it into my robes when I wasn't looking." Ginny suggested.  
  
"Right. Because dating him for a week is definitely long enough for him to give you big surprise presents."  
  
"Oh, shut up."  
  
"So you have no idea how it came to be in your robes."  
  
Ginny wanted to say something sarcastic but couldn't come up with anything. "Not a clue."  
  
"Okay. Then what do you make of this?"  
  
Jeremy turned the necklace so that the silver backing faced towards Ginny. She leaned forward to examine it more closely, and sucked in a deep breath. Engraved on the back of the necklace in delicate script was the name Virginia Anne Weasley. 


	2. The Pleasure of Your Company

Title: Crepúsculo (02)  
  
Author name: Katja  
  
Author email: katja021@yahoo.com  
  
Category: Romance  
  
Sub Category: General  
  
Keywords: Ginny Jeremy Cora 6th year  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Spoilers: SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF  
  
Summary: At first glance, 16-year-old Ginny Weasley seems almost perfect. She has good grades, great friends, a starting position on the house team, and a blossoming romance. She's also got more homework than she can handle, uncountable half-truthes to juggle, and malicious old problems that refuse to rest easy, making her life a volatile accident waiting to happen. And, even better, the spark that could set it all off is controlled by none other than her old worst enemy.  
  
DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. I paraphrased a simile from Stephen King's Wizard and Glass. Cora Delera's name comes from Last of the Mohicans, and her character is based physically, to a certain degree, on Cora Munro.  
  
Author's Note: Once again, a huge thanks goes to Soz, co-sponsor of the YDEOA and commander-in-chief of many squadrons of evil biscuits.  
  
****************  
  
Crepúsculo  
  
Chapter 2  
  
The Pleasure of Your Company  
  
****************  
  
I see a red door and I want to paint it black  
  
No colours anymore, I want them to turn black  
  
I see the girls walk by dressed in their summer clothes  
  
I have to turn my head until my darkness goes  
  
--The Rolling Stones  
  
****************  
  
Ginny tried to pay attention during the Sorting Ceremony. She managed to listen to the selections all the way through "Dobbs, Katherine," but after Katie Dobbs became a Hufflepuff her attention scuttled away to a warm, dark corner of the Hall and snuggled up with the dust bunnies. Ginny would have loved to have followed it. She wanted to curl up in fetal position and whimper pitifully, ideally staying there until her problems realized she wasn't worth bothering and left her alone.  
  
Ginny couldn't actually do that, of course; the idea was a lot like the Muggles' system of Communism: beautiful on paper, but highly unsuccessful in practice. Besides, she was a Gryffindor. She was supposed to deal with problems bravely.  
  
The sarcastic side of her reasoned that Gryffindors were known for bravery in fighting dragons, or winning battles, the sort of things Harry was always doing, saving the world and such. Not for dealing with a hyperactive attention span and a mental overload.  
  
She wasn't sure why she felt so overwhelmed, except for the suffocating and the concussion. She'd always treaded on a tentative tightrope where Jeremy Hayden was concerned, so the sudden shift in his feelings towards her wasn't so much surprising as unsettling, an unexpected movement of the rope beneath her. She'd catch her balance quickly enough and take it in stride like the experienced tightrope walker she was. Tightrope dancer probably fit her better, as she tended to take unnecessary risks, and not just with Jeremy Hayden's emotions: give her mother a little heart failure--it was good for her, you know; it used to be Fred and George's job, but with them gone Ginny had taken it upon herself to continue in the business; she didn't want Molly Weasley getting too comfortable in her old age, did she? A little danger was medicine for the soul. It was all in good fun, she swore, and there was always the net to catch her if she fell.  
  
During the Sorting, Ginny clapped whenever she happened to hear the Sorting Hat's announcements over the voice of her thoughts ("Ravenclaw!" "Slytherin!") but ignored the majority of the ceremony. Because, while she was certain that the physical damage to her brain from the Malfoy Episode and Jeremy's kiss weren't aiding her mental clarity, the dubious honor of being the real reason for her lack of concentration belonged to the necklace that had fallen from her pocket. The necklace she wore now, a comforting orb of silver and mist dangling from her neck.  
  
Jeremy had handed it to her, saying that she could do as she wished with it; it had her name on it, after all. "You probably wouldn't want to wear it, though," he added. "It's icy cold."  
  
At first when Ginny touched it, the chain still looped around Jeremy's fingers, it had felt cold, so frigid that she couldn't hold onto it for long. When she'd taken it from Jeremy, however, it had warmed up immediately. She found the sudden change in temperature odd, but made no mention of it to Jeremy, only clasped it around her neck and lowered it beneath her robes. She should show it to Cora, Ginny thought, but immediately decided against that idea. For reasons she didn't even attempt to comprehend she was loath to let anyone see the necklace, not even Cora, who might recognize its ethereal beauty and desire it for her own.  
  
Ginny looked up at Jeremy, who was staring at her with a perfectly emotionless face. He might have been curious but he showed no sign of it.  
  
"Thank you," Ginny said, though for what, she wasn't entirely sure.  
  
Jeremy nodded and she knew he wouldn't mention the necklace to Cora, or Mike, or anyone else. Something flickered across his dark green eyes but he'd captured it and caged it before Ginny could identify just what it was. She felt irrationally slighted by this, but scolded herself. Didn't she do the same exact thing, only showing the world the emotions she wanted them to see, and squirreling away the rest? Of course she did, as part of the elaborate glamour she'd concocted to disguise the truth. Jeremy acted similarly. She knew better than to believe that sarcasm and pranks were the whole truth of the Ravenclaw.  
  
But she was a far better actor than he. Occasionally she could see through the cracks of his deception, catch a glimpse of his real emotions. She'd always been able to see through people's disguises to their actual intentions. She judged people based on what she saw of their true nature, and in such judgments she had never been wrong.  
  
Except once.  
  
She said to Jeremy, "I can walk myself the rest of the way. You should go put on your robes."  
  
He nodded again and gave her one last expressionless glance before turning away. Ginny headed for her car. After closing the door behind her she allowed herself a very conservative sigh of relief before taking a deep breath and preparing herself for what promised to be yet another harrowing experience: sharing a compartment with the Wonder Trio for the second time in one day. Doesn't everyone wish they were so lucky?  
  
Ginny swallowed and opened the door.  
  
Hermione and Harry greeted her upon her entry. As for Ron...she took in his unmoving form, sprawled across three seats.  
  
"He's still unconscious," Hermione commented upon noticing the direction of Ginny's gaze.  
  
"Have you tried Ennervate?"  
  
"Didn't work." Harry sighed. "Got any good ideas, Gin?"  
  
Not so long ago Ginny would have swooned if he'd called her Gin. "You could tell people he's sick. Better hope he wakes up soon."  
  
"Thanks for the helpful suggestion, Ginny," Harry grimaced. "But it's probably what we're going to have to do."  
  
Ginny smiled sweetly. "Harry, would you be a dear and leave for a minute so I can change into my robes? Thanks so much," she added as he complied.  
  
She noticed Hermione's eyes on Harry's back as he left. Ginny barely restrained herself from blurting out, "So you like him too?" She wouldn't say that to Hermione. Ginny valued her relationship with the older girl too greatly to be gratuitously cruel to her, although she was in the mood to be gratuitously cruel to someone. Her eyes scanned the compartment for small furry animals to maim, but no suitable targets presented themselves-- only Hermione, who was a non-option, and Ron, who, being unconscious, didn't really count. Ginny resigned herself to kicking the wall surreptitiously and not allowing herself to scream; not quite as effective as torturing unsuspecting victims, but still a fun way to vent.  
  
Ginny knew the older girl wanted to talk to her from the look Hermione was projecting upon her. Making civilized conversation wasn't exactly topping off her list of priorities at the moment, but Ginny didn't see any good way to avoid it.  
  
"Ginny..." Hermione hesitated. "Do you--I mean--Are you feeling okay?"  
  
Ginny flashed a toothy grin and said, "Of course, Hermione. I'm wonderful. Why do you ask?"  
  
Hermione tucked a loose strand of hair behind her left ear and replied carefully, "You seem like something's bothering you. That's all." She was giving Ginny one of those pleading looks, the ones that said 'It's okay to tell me what's wrong.' Hermione didn't get it. Ginny didn't confide in anyone anymore. Telling your secrets only got you hurt.  
  
But Ginny had been around Hermione long enough to know that she could be relentless, especially when she felt something was being hidden from her. Ginny settled on telling her, "I'm still not feeling so great from being knocked out." Which was perfectly true. Perhaps not the whole truth, and certainly not the largest of her problems, but enough to satisfy Hermione's curiosity.  
  
"Oh, Ginny, there are spells for that. Here." She whipped out her wand and said something too quickly for Ginny to catch, and the headache was gone. "All better?"  
  
"My head's fine now, thanks," Ginny replied, careful not to say a plain 'yes,' because no, it wasn't all better, not by a long shot. But the headache part of it was. She chose her words very carefully, never lying but never telling all of the truth, either. She was very talented at it, but then she'd had a lot of practice.  
  
Ginny and Hermione changed into their school robes and Hermione invited Harry back in.  
  
"What did you do with Malfoy, by the way? I know you didn't leave him in that other compartment by himself." Hermione stared him down.  
  
"I woke him up and sent him back to the rest of his little Slythies."  
  
"Ennervate?"  
  
"Oh, no." Harry grinned malevolently. "Ice water."  
  
Ginny smirked at the thought of a sopping-wet Draco Malfoy. Imagine the damage to his hair! The poor baby.  
  
"I would say I feel sorry for him," Hermione said, "but I don't. He had it coming." They exchanged an amused sniggle.  
  
Ginny suddenly had a thought. "Bet I know how you can wake up my brother." Without giving them the chance to catch onto her meaning, Ginny said, "Accio ice water," and dumped it on Ron's head.  
  
Ron sputtered and groaned. "Wha-?" he exclaimed.  
  
Ginny was tempted to rebound Hermione's words back at her--"I would say I feel sorry for him, but I don't"--but decided against it at the last minute. She settled for a good old, "Hey, it worked, didn't it?" in response to Harry and Hermione's open-mouthed stares.  
  
They couldn't very well refute that.  
  
Ginny smiled a little too sweetly and said," Oh, look! We're almost at Hogsmeade Station. Ron, you'd better get your school robes on."  
  
"Hey!" Hermione said. "I'm Head Girl; that's my line."  
  
"Right," Ginny said. "So, Hermione, you and I should probably clear out while Ron changes...unless you'd like to watch?" she added, indulging the nasty streak that, currently, was greatly enjoying watching Ron and Hermione squirm.  
  
"I'll come with you," Hermione squeaked, and scooted out of the compartment, leaving Ginny amazed, as always, at the effect a well-timed, mildly malicious comment could have on people.  
  
Hermione avoided Ginny's eyes while they waited in the hall. They weren't outside very long; definitely not long enough to bother talking when they had nothing to say to each other.  
  
But apparently Hermione did have something to say. "Since when are you so sarcastic, Ginny?"  
  
"What?" Ginny didn't bother to mask her surprise. Hermione waited expectantly, so she continued, "A long time, I guess."  
  
"Maybe I just missed it," Hermione began, "but you never used to be so..."  
  
"So what?"  
  
"So--" Hermione broke off as the compartment door opened.  
  
Harry stuck his head out into the hall and announced that they could come back in. Hermione shot him an annoyed glare, which he ignored, and then gave Ginny a meaningful glance: their conversation was hardly finished.  
  
Ginny tuned out the Wonder Trio's excited gibbering during the last few minutes of the ride and freed herself from them the instant the train pulled into Hogsmeade Station. She sat in the first carriage she came across, and had absolutely no idea who sat with her. If they said anything to her she didn't hear it.  
  
Nor did she have any idea how she'd arrived in her seat in the Great Hall next to Cora. A quick look around proved that, thankfully, she had ended up at the Gryffindor table instead of the Hufflepuff, but she supposed it had been a one in four chance. Her hands were clapping without her even having been aware of it.  
  
Cora nudged her and suddenly she was in control again. "Ginny, what is the matter with you?"  
  
Ginny blinked. "Huh?"  
  
"That was a Slytherin, Ginny. You know, the snakes? We don't clap for Slytherins."  
  
"Right. Yes." Ginny took a deep breath. Breathe in, breathe out. Why did it suddenly seem so difficult?  
  
She felt Cora's eyes on her, and gave her friend a weak grin. She couldn't let Cora suspect anything. No, no. Keep control, keep breathing.  
  
As suddenly as it had arrived Ginny's attention span deserted her, silently, painlessly, like blood lost in hot water. Cora tried to talk to her multiple times during the Feast but Ginny couldn't handle conversation at the moment, and waited for Cora to catch the hint. Sure enough, Cora finally began to converse with--why not?--Jeremy Hayden, a Ravenclaw, across the Hufflepuff table, annoying the Hufflepuffs to no end, although no one really cared about that save the Hufflepuffs. The more contact Ginny had with Hufflepuff the gladder she was that she'd been made a Gryffindor. Even Slytherin was better than Hufflepuff.  
  
Her eyes wandered over to the Slytherin table, where the twin mountains were engorging themselves, each of them gnawing on an entire leg of lamb. Ginny wrinkled her nose in distaste. Okay, take that back about Slytherin being better than Hufflepuff. At least Hufflepuffs had manners.  
  
Before looking down at her plate, full of food she'd slid around into a slushy mess, eating having proved impossible without the benefit of a functioning brain, Ginny's eyes traveled the length of the Slytherin table and rested on a figure to the right of Crabbe/Goyle, so eclipsed in the shadow of the mountain that Ginny couldn't recognize him. This person actually appeared to be using (gasp!) a fork and a knife. Well. That certainly was an improvement. Maybe Slytherins weren't all hogs...  
  
Crabbe/Goyle shifted away from the person next to him. The person glanced up from his plate. Ugh, it was only Malfoy. But she didn't look away immediately, and he stared right at her with his usual superior smirk, this time laced with a hearty dose of "I know something you don't know." Ginny felt suddenly and urgently ill. She wrenched her eyes away from his to flee the Great Hall and go puke in the girls' bathroom.  
  
After spending a few minutes of quality time with the center toilet Ginny left the stall to splash water on her face. The cool water helped a bit but she still hadn't ruled out a second round of barfing. She glanced up at her reflection. Deathly pale with a greenish, almost waxy tinge definitely wasn't a look that suited her, especially with water dribbling down her chin.  
  
"Wow, you look like hell," someone observed from across the room in a deeply amused, slightly drawling, and decidedly male voice. Ginny spun around just in time to see Draco Malfoy step out of the shadows.  
  
Ginny wiped the water off her face, blinked slowly, and exhaled a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. "What are you doing in the girls' bathroom?"  
  
He stared at her for a moment. "I saw you leave the Great Hall. You looked sick."  
  
"Yeah, well, good work, Sherlock. As you can see," she gestured towards her good friend the center toilet, "I have, in fact, been quite sick, as I'm sure you already knew. How long have you been in here anyway?"  
  
Ginny didn't actually expect him to answer that, and, true to form, he didn't.  
  
"Why are you here, Malfoy? You're about the last person I want to talk to right now. Hell, you're about the last person I want to talk to, ever."  
  
"I'm flattered," Malfoy said, "really, I am. Would you believe me if I said I'm here because I was worried about you?"  
  
"No," Ginny replied flatly.  
  
The right corner of his mouth turned up a little. "You're right. I wasn't."  
  
Before she could come up with a response that would get them off the circular track this conversation was stuck on, a pounding headache sprang up in Ginny's head. She put a hand to her temple, which made her dizzy, which made her want to throw up again. She sank to the floor, closing her eyes, willing the world to stop spinning and her stomach to calm down. She heard a few dull thumping noises and attributed them to her headache; they didn't register as footsteps until someone sat down beside her and put his arm around her shoulders. She forced her eyes open just as Malfoy leaned towards her with his lips slightly parted. She wanted to move away but couldn't make her sluggish muscles react quickly enough. Malfoy turned her head towards his and his mouth descended upon hers, cutting off her air supply, and she was drowning in him; he forced open her mouth and she could not resist him; she'd been drowning in him but now she was breathing with him, her heart racing and his mouth pouring over hers, his hands making small circles on her back that she felt acutely through her thin t-shirt-- she'd taken off her robes before befriending the toilet, not wanting to have to send out her only robes for dry cleaning and having to wear Cora's, or, God forbid, Ron's extra set. She didn't know what to do with her hands. For a while they lay dormant in her lap but as her body began to react to Malfoy's kiss her treacherous hands moved towards his back, intending to pull him closer. Just in time Ginny regained enough control to place her hands on his entirely-too-well-defined pecs and push him away.  
  
"Oh, no," Ginny whispered. "Not now." She thought she was going to throw up again but found that her muscles wouldn't support her. She felt more than a little dazed. She risked a glance at Malfoy, whose expression matched perfectly the one forming on her own face.  
  
Ginny leaned back against the wall and involuntarily touched her temple again. What she really wanted right now was her pajamas and her four- poster, and maybe some ice water. Not Malfoy. She really didn't need this.  
  
Finally she managed to say, in a hoarse whisper, "What exactly were you trying to accomplish by that?"  
  
Malfoy was leaning against the wall barely a foot away from her, but the barrier between them was so thick that they might as well have been sitting on opposite sides of the room. "Why?"  
  
Ginny stared at him for a moment, realized it made her head hurt, and closed her eyes again. "Well," she said, "kissing on the floor of the girls' bathroom just after I finished puking my guts out is hardly romantic."  
  
She heard his shrug. "Well, if you put it that way."  
  
She blinked her eyes open. "How would you put it?"  
  
Malfoy ran a hand through his fine blond hair. Every strand fell back into place exactly where it had been before. "I don't know." He repeated it. "I don't know."  
  
Ginny would have exploited that--"I heard you perfectly well the first time"--but really wasn't in the mood.  
  
Pajamas. Four-poster. Ice water.  
  
She tried to stand up and would have fallen flat on her face if Malfoy hadn't caught her by the shoulders.  
  
"You're sick," he said.  
  
"You think?"  
  
"You shouldn't move yet."  
  
"I'm fine." Ginny struggled out of his grip, took a step forward, smiled victoriously, and passed out.  
  
She was never certain, afterwards, as to how she came to be leaning against the wall outside the Fat Lady's portrait, where Cora found her upon returning from dinner, her robes draped around her shoulders, but she figured Malfoy played more than a bit part in getting her there.  
  
"What happened to you?" Cora's eyes confused.  
  
"I got sick. I still don't feel so well; I'll tell you about it in the morning." She didn't add that she couldn't possibly face the daunting task of properly editing the night's events and tailoring them into the version Ginny wanted Cora to hear before she got some rest.  
  
Cora agreed to wait till the morning. "You do look ill," she said.  
  
Ginny smiled blandly. She maneuvered her way into the dormitory, even managing not to collapse until she'd pulled the curtains around her bed tightly shut. She clutched at her pillow and finally slumped down on the mattress, exhausted.  
  
She awoke entirely too soon the next morning to see Cora's inquisitive pale eyes hovering directly above her head. Having experienced this particular method of rude awakening countless times, Ginny had conditioned herself not to yell out in surprise.  
  
But still.  
  
"Go away," she mumbled.  
  
Cora tittered. "C'mon, Gin, time to face the day! It's a mahvelous morning!"  
  
Ginny shoved Cora off her stomach, not unkindly, and fumbled around until she managed to free her arm from the coverlet. After glancing at her watch she groaned, "Cora, it's seven-thirty in the morning."  
  
"Exactly! It's Saturday. We can do whatever we want all day long!"  
  
"Right. So I'm going back to bed."  
  
"Oh, no, you aren't! We have places to go, and people"--she winked and nudged Ginny's arm--"to see."  
  
"You go tell those places and people that I'll be right there. In another five hours or so."  
  
"I'm not giving up that easily."  
  
Ginny stared at her one-eyed. "You are entirely too bubbly for your own good, do you know that?"  
  
Cora made some excited-hamster noises and helped Ginny out of bed. "Oh, and while we're walking there, you can tell me what happened to you last night during dinner!"  
  
"Great," Ginny said. "Because that's just what I've been looking forward to all night."  
  
Oblivious to Ginny's sarcasm, Cora scooted over to Ginny's wardrobe and began tossing random articles of clothing onto the floor.  
  
"Do I even want to ask?" Ginny yawned.  
  
Cora grinned. "Nope. You just go take a shower. I'll explain when you get back."  
  
Realizing that Cora was in one of those moods where she just wouldn't take no for an answer, Ginny surrendered and headed off towards the bathroom. She pealed off her clothes once in the shower stall, so eager for the feel of warm water against her skin that she nearly didn't see the note that fell onto the floor from the pocket of her robes. She figured it was just trash, maybe an unfinished piece of homework from last year. She considered leaving it there, but her curiosity overcame her and she picked it up. No, not homework after all. It wasn't even her handwriting.  
  
Meet me in the North Tower at 8:00 next Saturday night.  
  
Ginny stared, blinked, and stared some more. There wasn't a signature, but Ginny knew who'd left the note in her robes. She thought it pretty egotistical of him to assume she would...but really, who else could it be?  
  
Ginny didn't enjoy her shower nearly as much as she'd anticipated, which put her in a foul mood. It was all Draco Malfoy's fault, too. Just when she'd almost succeeded in forgetting he existed, he had to go and remind her of him. Darn it.  
  
She dried off and pulled on her bathrobe and returned to the dormitories, where Cora greeted her with a smile that she was trying to hide.  
  
"Oh, Ginny," Cora called, "I've found just the thing for you to wear. Now don't argue with me because you know it's useless."  
  
Ginny sighed, rolled her eyes and almost choked when she caught sight of the clothes Cora was holding up. "You have got to be kidding me."  
  
Cora wiggled a lacy black tank top and short black skirt directly in front of Ginny's nose. "Trust my judgment here."  
  
"You didn't actually find those in my closet."  
  
"Well, the skirt's yours, with a few minor adjustments."  
  
Ginny examined it. "If you define minor as, oh, eight inches shorter."  
  
Cora grinned wickedly. "Just wear it."  
  
Ginny sighed and put her head in her hands. "I am putting on a cardigan over that thing, at least while we walk to wherever it is we're going."  
  
Cora conceded that much, adding, "Though we're really not going very far," which left Ginny curious, as Cora had, no doubt, intended it to.  
  
Ginny changed into the chosen clothes, feeling entirely too exposed her comfort and discovering a hidden remnant of her long-buried shyness desperately hoped to find the Common Room empty when they entered it.  
  
No such luck. In addition to half a dozen littles, as Ginny and Cora referred to first through third years, Ron and Harry were playing chess. You would really think they'd have found something better to do with their free time by now, like girlfriends, or even homework, but no, they would be playing chess. Hermione was watching, sort-of; the heavy volume that rested open in her lap was rapidly capturing her attention. "Work first, romance can wait" had served Hermione well over the years. That is, if you were Hermione.  
  
Harry saw Cora and Ginny first. He raised his hand, paused mid-wave, and ogled Ginny. Ron turned around to chastise whoever had interrupted the game, caught sight of Ginny, and nearly fell out of his chair.  
  
"Virginia Weasley, what in the world are you thinking, going out of your dorm dressed like that? Or should I say, undressed? It's absolutely..." he paused mid-tirade to hunt for a word, looking so much like their mother that Ginny couldn't help but laugh, just as he found his word, "scandalous!"  
  
Ron glared at Ginny and Cora, who'd decided the opportunity was too good to pass up and had burst out laughing, too.  
  
"I'm not letting you leave the Common Room looking like a cheap whore, Virginia Anne--Hey! Are you even listening to me? Cora? There's nothing funny about this!"  
  
Peals of laughter burst out from behind Ron: Harry and Hermione had recognized the comedy of the situation. "Don't you two even start," Ron bristled, which only made them laugh harder.  
  
Ginny and Cora escaped while Ron attempted to silence his best friends. The second the Fat Lady closed behind them Cora erupted in fresh laughter. "Honestly, Gin," Cora wheezed, "your brother's got to get over his protective bit. You're nearly seventeen, for goodness' sake."  
  
"Ron does have a point, though. I do feel like a whore in these clothes. You'd better have a really good reason for this."  
  
Cora smiled cryptically but her eyes danced. "You'll see."  
  
At first Ginny thought Cora was leading her towards the library, a scary thought, then towards the Hufflepuff dormitories, even worse, but when they turned into the 4th floor of the East Wing, Ginny really started to wonder. There was nothing, repeat, nothing vaguely near there. "Uh, Cora?" Ginny asked hesitantly. Cora had began to poke at random stones on the wall while muttering to herself.  
  
"Just a minute, Ginny, just a minute," and she continued her task. When Ginny had begun questioning her friend's sanity and considering which ward of St. Mungo's mental institution would best suit Cora, a brick finally popped loose and the wall rearranged itself to create an entrance uncannily similar to the door into Diagon Alley. When Ginny mentioned this, Cora gave her a funny look and said, "The Founders designed Diagon Alley. You didn't know that?"  
  
Behind the door was a dim sideways tunnel. Cora led Ginny through it, turned left at the end, and down a few flights of stairs. The stairs ended in a short hallway with two locked doors, neither of which gave the impression that they would respond to Alohomora. Cora gave a command in rapid French to the left-hand door, which sprang open instantly. Cora's mother was French, so Cora's use of the language didn't surprise Ginny nearly as much as the fact that there were doors in Hogwarts that responded to French commands.  
  
The door revealed a little room lit by three torches on the walls, one beside each of its three doors. A tapestry covered most of the fourth wall.  
  
"Wait here, Ginny. I'll be right back."  
  
"All right, we've gone places. So now I get to see people?"  
  
"Something like that." And with a wink, she was gone.  
  
Ginny shivered. The cardigan she'd insisted upon wearing did little to ward off the damp, chilly air. This room couldn't be far above the dungeons. It even smelled faintly of old mildew.  
  
Her stomach rumbled and she wondered what time it was. She realized belatedly that in all the excitement she'd left her watch on the nightstand. No matter, a clock hung high on the wall to her right. Ten a.m., and she hadn't eaten breakfast. Damn Cora's schemes. She quickly lost interest in her hunger, however, at her eyes fixed themselves upon the tapestry directly in front of her. The weaving depicted a brown-haired young woman with knowing eyes holding hands with a silver-haired man who smiled languorously. A snake curled around his feet while a raven perched on her shoulder. The pair stood beneath a tree Ginny would have recognized anywhere: the great oak on the hill overlooking Hogwarts's lake. Ginny's favorite tree. It was summer in the tapestry, with the great green branches billowing in the breeze. Ginny was ashamed of herself all of a sudden. This tapestry wasn't hers to gaze upon, nor was this room hers to use. She wished Cora hadn't brought her here.  
  
Ginny heard two sets of footsteps echoing down the stairwell. The sound relieved her enormously, allowing her to turn her eyes away from the tapestry and look at the stairs. She could hear the footsteps and see the shadows but not their owners, but that didn't matter. It was better than looking at the tapestry. She couldn't explain just what about it worried her so much. She feared for the pair in the tapestry even as they made her nervous.  
  
Blessedly, Cora bounded into the room. She was followed close behind by Jeremy Hayden, who wore a dark green sweater that matched his eyes, a feat of dressing that he surely hadn't accomplished alone. Jeremy shot Ginny a brief, out-of-place smile before turning his nervous gaze on Cora. Ginny too looked at Cora, who favored them both with a triumphant camp counselor smile before scurrying up the stairs.  
  
Ginny watched her retreating form. "Cora's in her element, isn't she? Nobody but her could get me into a miniskirt and down into the dungeons early on a Saturday morning without any explanation. And before breakfast, too."  
  
"She's good at this sort of thing. You know I wouldn't be wearing this"-- he indicated his forest green sweater and expensive charcoal pants-- "without Cora having something to do with it. I think she borrowed the sweater from Dean Thomas."  
  
Ginny had to laugh at that. Jeremy wasn't one to borrow clothes from a gay guy, even if the color was perfect for him. "Knowing Dean, he probably suggested the sweater himself."  
  
"Probably," Jeremy agreed, both of them aware that the conversation was floundering in this tense mood. So unlike their ordinary, easygoing banter.  
  
Jeremy laughed nervously. Ginny had half a mind to do the same, see if it cleared the air between them.  
  
"I can't explain it, but this room does something to me," Jeremy said.  
  
Ginny nodded. "It's the tapestry," she said, motioning to it. "Gives me the creeps."  
  
He looked. "I hadn't even noticed it. That couch did enough."  
  
Ginny saw the sofa for the first time, a fine old thing of dark wood and moldy velvet in remarkably good condition for all the years it must have survived in this dank little room. She imagined she saw two people on it, kissing passionately. A flash of silver hair. A few brown ringlets.  
  
"Let's leave," Jeremy spoke Ginny's thoughts aloud. They walked up the stairs and he took her hand and she was glad. She wouldn't have wanted to be alone on these stairs after seeing the chamber they led to. They climbed an eternity of stairs lit by infrequent torches, passing doors on some of the landings. Jeremy ignored these and continued upwards. She hoped Jeremy knew where he was going, perfectly aware that even if he didn't he wouldn't admit it.  
  
Finally they reached the top. The stairs dead-ended in a door with the knob placed, oddly, at the very top. Upon passing through the door Ginny found herself in a broom closet, of all places. Jeremy lit his wand before closing the door behind them. Whoever had crafted it had done a remarkably good job; there wasn't a chance you could notice the door if you didn't know it existed. The knob was cunningly hidden above the shelf up high. Jeremy opened the broom closet door to reveal a hallway Ginny recognized as the 2nd floor of the Ravenclaw dormitories. To her right would be the balcony overlooking the Common Room. She'd been here many times before.  
  
Ginny looked towards the back of the closet for a moment and imagined she saw a snake and a raven resting on the branches of a tree. She shivered and turned away, following Jeremy into the reassuring light of the hallway.  
  
Something in her face must have hinted at her uneasiness. Jeremy gave her a concerned look. "There's a fire going in my dormitory."  
  
That was all the suggestion he needed to give. The day itself probably wasn't cold enough to merit a fire, but Ginny needed one. She could feel gooseflesh all over her body. It had to be a rule that old castles must be drafty all year round.  
  
"Right," Ginny said, and followed him. Last door on the left, up five steps, and there they were. A fire crackled in the hearth, as promised. Ginny immediately picked out which of the six beds was Jeremy's and plopped down on it. Jeremy moved a fuzzy blue blanket out of his way and sat down beside her. In one of his more adorable moments, he draped the blanket around Ginny's shoulders. She enveloped herself in it entirely, kicking off the painful black shoes she'd endured all morning and crossing her legs Indian-style. Her skirt slid up to her hips but the blanket covered everything that needed covering.  
  
Ginny smiled at him. "That's a lot better. Thanks, Jer."  
  
The nickname slipped out without her even being aware that she'd used it, but hearing it made his eyes light up. She was the only one who called him Jer. Not even Cora used the nickname.  
  
"Sure, Ginny. You're welcome." A goofy grin was on his face, eager but a little uncertain. He looked so cute like that.  
  
Ginny leaned a little closer to him and suddenly she was kissing him, shyly at first but quickly warming to him. He pulled her towards him and she leaned in closer, opening her eyes briefly to see his expression of magnificent surprise, that of a small child who'd just realized he'd received for Christmas the gift he wanted most of all. He was just too cute. She leaned in even more, maybe a little too far, because Jeremy overbalanced and fell backwards onto the bed, with Ginny, and her all- encompassing blanket, on top of him.  
  
Which was the exact position Cora found them in, moments later.  
  
A huge grin crept onto Cora's face. "Hey guys," she said cheerfully, "am I interrupting something? I'll go ahead and close the door if I was. But if that was your plan, shouldn't you have locked the door first?"  
  
If Ginny's face was anywhere close to as flushed as Jeremy's they'd be a matched set of tomatoes. Ginny found it endearing that Jeremy was so embarrassed. If she'd been found in the same position with Draco Malfoy, he wouldn't have even blinked. Now what was she doing contrasting Jeremy with Draco Malfoy?  
  
"Great timing, Cor," Ginny said. "Really great. What are you doing in the Ravenclaw dorms anyway?"  
  
"I was going to go check on you two down in the little room, heard some interesting noises from this end of the hall, and got curious." She grinned. "I'd hoped for good results, but wow!"  
  
"Cola Delera, matchmaker," Jeremy rolled his eyes.  
  
"Aren't I talented?"  
  
"You positively have a gift for it," Ginny replied. She'd meant it to be sarcastic, but sarcasm proved impossible with Jeremy looking at her with a swoon-worthy stare.  
  
"Now, have fun, you two," Cora said, the grin never leaving her face. "But come up for air around lunchtime, you hear? I don't want to have to send in the rescue squad."  
  
"We're not Maggie and Mike, Cora."  
  
"Thank goodness. I love them to death, but you'd think they forget the rest of us exist sometimes."  
  
Jeremy nodded. "Wouldn't surprise me at all."  
  
"Well, I'll leave you two lovebirds alone. But don't forget lunch!" she called, exiting.  
  
Ginny and Jeremy looked at each other and burst out laughing. The anxious, tense mood of earlier had vanished the second they'd entered the 6th year boys' dormitory, replaced by something slightly awkward but very sweet. If moods had colors, hers would be fuzzy pink, Ginny thought, perfectly matching her room back at the Burrow. Her mum had decorated that room, wishing for her only daughter a lifetime of happy moments like this.  
  
Ginny smiled contentedly and they stumbled into a second kiss. Ginny hadn't felt so uncomplicatedly happy for longer than she could remember. She finally broke off the kiss and leaned back on her elbows. The blanket had fallen off the bed at some point. Her skirt was still hanging around her hips. Jeremy's eyes followed her gaze and he grinned impishly. She considered pulling it down, but what was the point? He'd seen this before, and she didn't mind his eyes on her anyway.  
  
"Okay, Jeremy, out of curiosity--how long have you had a crush on me?"  
  
A corner of his mouth curved in. "End of last year, I guess. You were dating Seamus at the time, and I couldn't get up the guts to tell you, anyway. So I waited all summer--"  
  
"Till the train, when you couldn't wait anymore," Ginny finished for him.  
  
"You?"  
  
"I didn't, actually. The kiss on the train was a surprise for me. But a good surprise."  
  
Jeremy grinned and kissed her briefly, or so it seemed, because when he glanced at his watch it was a quarter to one already. "Damn, we'd better go to lunch, or Cora will have our heads on a silver platter."  
  
Ginny laughed. "I like my head a lot better attached to my body, thanks."  
  
Ginny and Jeremy sat at the Gryffindor table. They were a little unsure how to behave around their friends, but Cora orchestrated everything in her typical mother-duck fashion and nothing remarkable happened.  
  
They enjoyed the rest of the afternoon together, dizzily blissful, and every moment of their spare time for the next week. Ginny was never certain, afterwards, how they spent those happy hours. Funny how your mind forgets the details of your joyful memories but recalls every instant of the unpleasant ones.  
  
She was glad to have Jeremy to look forward to each night. Without him Ginny wasn't sure if she could have survived that first week of sixth year. She'd known to expect a lot of homework, but lately it seemed she spent more time each day doing schoolwork than sleeping. Hermione would have been in her element. Ginny actually heard Hermione complaining, one night, that the teachers weren't giving her enough homework this year. Gag.  
  
Ginny's meetings with Jeremy gave her something to look forward to that wasn't school or homework. She liked sleep, but she liked Jeremy better, and if she lost some sleep by meeting with him, it was okay. He kept her from going insane.  
  
The weekend came as a blessed relief. Ginny slept very late, ate brunch, lost a few Sickles in an afternoon of poker, and fed Laraby a few new rumors. It wasn't until the middle of dinner that Ginny remembered the note from last Friday:  
  
Meet me in the North Tower at 8:00 next Saturday night.  
  
Tonight.  
  
*******************  
  
If you liked the Ginny/Jeremy pairing, thank Soz.  
  
Thanks to reviewers: Water Fire Girl, ArrA, rejuvenate, Iden's Garden, Aka*Rei, Soz, JilseponieAngel, Kitycat87, Dazma, and Nala/Ethereal. 


	3. Accommodation

Title: Crepúsculo (03)  
  
Author name: Katja  
  
Author email: katja021@yahoo.com  
  
Category: Romance  
  
Sub Category: General  
  
Keywords: Ginny Jeremy Cora 6th year  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Spoilers: SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, FB, QTTA  
  
Summary: At first glance, 16-year-old Ginny Weasley seems almost perfect. She has good grades, great friends, a starting position on the house team, and a blossoming romance. She's also got more homework than she can handle, uncountable half-truths to juggle, and malicious old problems that refuse to rest easy, making her life a volatile accident waiting to happen. And, even better, the spark that could set it all off is controlled by none other than her old worst enemy.  
  
DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Additional information at the end of the chapter.  
  
Author's Notes: Sorry that this chapter took such a ridiculously long time to write. Thanks to Soz for beta-reading, and to Amy for nagging.  
  
*****************  
  
Crepúsculo Chapter 3 Accommodation  
  
***************  
  
At first Ginny thought she simply wouldn't go to meet Draco. Why should she? She couldn't think of a single reason.  
  
But at 7:30 Ginny was wrapped in her cloak, telling Cora she was off to meet someone, (if Cora assumed she meant Jeremy, it was no fault of Ginny's) and hurrying vaguely in the direction of the North Tower.  
  
She knew where it was, of course. Very few students were unable to find the major sections of Hogwarts, the wings and towers and such, after the second year, though it was highly unlikely that any two of them used the same route to arrive at a given location. Out of the four cardinal towers, the North was perhaps the one used least frequently; Ginny hadn't visited it in some time. She remembered it as a dark, grubby place, used more for storage than anything else, full of broken furniture and ripped curtains.  
  
Ginny pushed open the heavy oak door that marked a tower entrance and found herself at the foot of a distantly-familiar spiral staircase. As she ascended her attention was directed more and more at the destroyed paintings that riddled the walls, highlighted by flickering torchlight. The people in the paintings could move around no longer, not without having their canvases repaired, which no one had bothered to do, but their eyes followed Ginny as she marched up the stairs. Those unhappy eyes pleaded with her. Help us. Please. Help us.  
  
When she finally saw the door at the top, she knew that it had been a near thing: too many more stairs would have set her screaming at those paintings. Her screams wouldn't have affected them. They would have kept on staring.  
  
Ginny was starting to get used to the idea that through the door lay safety, when she remembered exactly with whom she was meeting tonight. Safety rested the other way, down the stairs, past the eyes. Through another door, not this one. She wasn't ready to face those eyes again yet, so she opened the door.  
  
Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the unaccustomed dimness. The only light came from the hearth, in which a fire blazed. She caught a few glimpses of the furnishings, enough to confirm her memories of the place as a treasure trove of broken dreams: beautiful chests scarred by flames, three legged chairs, shredded ball-gowns.  
  
A voice from the chair nearest the fire. "You're late."  
  
"I wasn't planning on coming at all."  
  
"You shouldn't have arrived late."  
  
"Well, that's just too bad. If I am late, it's those paintings' fault."  
  
"They've never bothered me."  
  
"No, they wouldn't dare disturb a Malfoy," Ginny sneered.  
  
"I imagine not," he replied, ignoring, or perhaps unaware of, her sarcasm.  
  
"Why did you leave that note in my robes last weekend?"  
  
"What makes you think I left that note?"  
  
Ginny slumped down on a velvet couch of indiscernible color. "Don't be an ass, Malfoy, who else could it have been? And only a Malfoy would chose a place like this for a meeting."  
  
Malfoy looked up at her, somehow positioning his head so that his eyes caught the firelight and glowed orange. "Why did you come then, Weasley, if you don't want to be in a place"--he selected a condescending tone-- "like this."  
  
"For one, because you never did tell me exactly what you were doing in the girls' bathroom last week."  
  
Malfoy's teeth flashed. "All right, Weasley, if you must know, I was there to take a leak."  
  
"Imagine, the things we never knew about you. Draco Malfoy uses the girls' bathroom."  
  
Ginny hoped that would get a rise out of him. She wanted to involve him in an argument. Arguing with Malfoy was familiar.  
  
She really didn't like the smirk on his face.  
  
"Actually, Weasley," he drawled, "I think you may have gotten the wrong bathroom in your haste to rid yourself of your dinner. Or did you miss the urinals? You know, the white porcelain things on the wall to the right of the sinks."  
  
"I know what a urinal is," Ginny snapped. Ugh, could he really be serious? She'd puked her guts out in the boys' bathroom?  
  
"With six brothers I would certain hope so, but one never can tell with your type."  
  
Ginny was on her feet before he even closed his mouth. "My type? Now, Malfoy, please do tell me what you mean by my type," she said levelly, thinking she saw red, or maybe that was just the fire. The fire that was reflected in Malfoy's eyes.  
  
"You know, the less pure wizards," he replied in the same chatty tone she'd used. "Not quite half-bloods, but not nearly so good as--"  
  
Ginny launched herself at him without waiting for the rest of the sentence. "You miserable bastard, I--" she began, propelling her left fist at his chest--despite being right handed, she always led left--intending to knock the wind out of him, an action at which she was very skilled, having had a good deal of practice with her brothers. But he caught her arm and twisted out of the way so that her fist flew past him, falling harmlessly on the chair. Her motion drove her directly into his rib-cage. She let out a surprised "Oof" and fell against him. He held her there.  
  
"Won't you Gryffindors ever learn not to telegraph your moves?"  
  
"Damn you, Mal--"  
  
He smirked and covered her mouth with his before she could complete her insult. Her nerves tingled with electricity for an instant and then she pushed off of him, breathing raggedly.  
  
"I'm not finished. You shouldn't interrupt me. It's rude. But I guess the rules of common courtesy don't apply to Malfoys." She glared at him.  
  
Malfoy appeared bored but his breathing sounded a little too fast. Good. If she wasn't comfortable she certainly didn't want him to be, either. He shook his head. "Weasley, even Potter has better insults than you. You're out of practice."  
  
"You say that like it's a bad thing. The less I see you the happier I am."  
  
Malfoy stood up. Less than a foot lay between them. "Really. Is that true, when I can hear your heart racing?"  
  
Ginny wasn't sure if he was bluffing. She couldn't judge very well with the blood pounding against her temple. "Get over yourself. You don't have that effect on every female you meet."  
  
"Most of the girls at Hogwarts would beg to differ."  
  
Okay, he had a point. "They're all showing a serious lack of judgement, then."  
  
He smirked. She suddenly realized she didn't have to take any more of this. "Goodbye, Malfoy." Ginny forced her feet to carry her out of the room. When she turned to shut the door she caught a brief glimpse of his face, still wearing that bemused smirk. Ugh. She never would have expected to look forward to the walk downstairs, but even those plaintive eyes were better than dealing with Draco Malfoy.  
  
**********************  
  
Ginny was so preoccupied with avoiding Draco Malfoy on Sunday that she forgot a crucial detail: she didn't want to run into Jeremy Hayden, either.  
  
Or rather, see Cora waltz into the Gryffindor Common Room, Jeremy in tow.  
  
Should've stayed in bed.  
  
It probably wouldn't have done any good. Cora would have drug Jeremy right into the girls' dormitory, propriety, despite her high French breeding, completely lost on her. It never would have dawned on Cora that Ginny might want to be left alone. Cora couldn't begin to comprehend that anyone could actually desire solitude. Cora genuinely liked people, and didn't much care in whose company she was, outside of that of her best friends. She didn't discriminate against age, clique, anything. Nobody, not even the Slytherins, could bring themselves to dislike her. Oddest of all, Snape actually seemed to like her. Ginny had asked her why but Cora said she wasn't entirely certain. She'd seemed to be evading the question, but Ginny didn't push it. It hadn't seemed important.  
  
Cora bounced directly into Ginny's line of vision. Ginny sunk lower into the squishy red armchair. "Feeling antisocial today, are we?"  
  
Ginny smiled weakly.  
  
"Jeremy's here," Cora glared to Ginny's left, where, presumably, Jeremy waited. "He won't come say hi, though, because he seems to think you don't want to be bothered, and says he won't come in unless you want him to."  
  
See, Jeremy had the right idea. Jeremy knew her, not that Cora didn't, but she, unlike Jeremy, was ignorant of Ginny's moods, or perhaps chose to ignore them. Jeremy, however, read into Ginny's actions and reacted accordingly. He might be injured by her lack of excitement at his presence, but he would understand her unenthusiasm and leave her alone.  
  
Cora, on the other hand... Ginny half-expected to see a wagging tail and a panting tongue any moment.  
  
If Jeremy was the only force she had to deal with, Ginny would have told him to leave and would have gone back to bed for an hour or thirty-six, but she couldn't face the disappointment on both Cora and Jeremy's faces.  
  
Ginny molded her lips into a half-assed attempt at a perky smile. "Of course I want to see him. Did he really think I wouldn't?"  
  
"He said you looked aloof during breakfast."  
  
She found it more than a little flattering that he spent time studying her face at meals, even while she was zoning out. "I didn't have such a great night last night."  
  
"Not with Jeremy?" A brief expression of concern flitted across Cora's face.  
  
"Of course not. I ran into a Slytherin."  
  
"Well, that explains everything," Cora said, in a tone that suggested it actually did. "I'll get Jeremy."  
  
Ginny attempted to smile at Cora's back. Her facial muscles didn't seem inclined to cooperate.  
  
Cora plopped down in the armchair next to Ginny, motioning at Jeremy, who ambled over and seated himself across from them.  
  
"I wasn't sure if you'd want me here," Jeremy began, "but someone insisted I come."  
  
Cora smiled angelically. "If it was up to you two, you'd spend your entire lives trying to figure out each other's moods and accommodate them. You'd sit around indoors and worry when you could be outside enjoying yourselves like normal people."  
  
"Who says being outside is normal?" Ginny asked.  
  
"Today, I'd estimate 99.95% of the school."  
  
"The other .05% being..."  
  
"You," Cora and Jeremy supplied instantaneously. They laughed.  
  
"Ah," Ginny said. "So if I stay inside, I'm some sort of, I don't know, leper?"  
  
"Well, yeah, that essentially sums it up," Cora replied.  
  
"But I don't want to go outside. I want to sit in here and drink tea and read a good book."  
  
"How about some dried prunes and a root canal?" Jeremy said.  
  
Cora burst out laughing. Ginny grinned but remained seated, still unconvinced.  
  
"Ginny," Cora began, "I want you to understand something. We're in Scotland, it's the middle of September, and it's 60 degrees and sunny out. In about a week it's going to be 35 degrees and raining, and it's not going to get any better till next summer. So think for a minute"--Ginny grimaced as if in agony--"yes, I know it's difficult for someone with such a small brain, but give it a try...good girl. Now, do you really want to spend what could very well be the last beautiful day for months moping around indoors? You can do that all winter."  
  
Jeremy nodded approvingly.  
  
"Anything you'd like to add, Jeremy?"  
  
"I think you pretty well covered it. But, Ginny, we'd love it if you'd come outside." He paused. "I'd love it." He gave her a big green-eyed look.  
  
Sold.  
  
Ginny tried to look long-suffering as she delegated to Cora the daunting task of finding her other sneaker, but her facial expressions apparently weren't up to par this morning. Were, in fact, well below par. Any expression that Jeremy could dub that of a constipated hippopotamus definitely didn't meet par.  
  
Fifteen minutes and one found sneaker later, the three of them arrived at the front entrance of the school. Jeremy ceremoniously flung the doors open and grinned broadly.  
  
Jeremy and Cora were right: it was an achingly beautiful Indian summer day, exactly as advertised. Wispy white clouds floated in photogenic puffs through delicate blue sky. Golden light warmed them and shone off the heads of the students relaxing on the still-green lawns. Ginny was almost afraid to step outside for fear she might shatter the perfection.  
  
Rapidly conquering her groundless qualms, Ginny followed Cora and Jeremy onto the rolling lawns. A few of their friends had congregated around the lake and appeared to be daring each other to go swimming. Ginny could have sworn she saw a large and predatory eye lurking just beneath the surface. She stole a glance at Jeremy and laughed at his barely concealed expression of longing. "Fancy a dip with the giant squid, Jer?" she grinned.  
  
Jeremy shook his head rapidly as if trying to clear his thoughts. He looked like a wet dog when he did that. "That's okay, thanks," he replied, just in time to snicker as the giant squid caught hold of Colin Creevey and dangled him some forty feet in the air, thrashing right and left.  
  
"I see something I want to do," Cora pointed to their right. Ginny followed her gaze to the small practice field beside the main Quidditch pitch, where half a dozen broomstick-wielding students stood. Cora proceeded to make a beeline for the field, Jeremy behind her. Ginny shrugged and followed reluctantly.  
  
As she walked towards the pitch, she briefly tried to convince herself that she didn't want to play Quidditch this early in the morning, that she wasn't in the mood. Watching Harry and Seamus loop and dive a few times rapidly proved otherwise. Her earthly dilemmas could go screw themselves while she played.  
  
Even as a pickup game, Ginny had always thought of Quidditch as her way to shut out her problems. The essential escapism of flight combined with the fleeting ultimate importance of the game to form a dazzling concoction that had saved Ginny's sanity more times than she could remember. Not to mention that whacking a screaming black ball at people with a hard wooden bat worked wonders for anger management.  
  
Cora strode right up to the mostly-male group of Ravenclaws and Gryffindors- -to the ones that still remained on the ground, anyway--and loudly informed them of her intention to play, retrieving her broomstick with an Accio even as she spoke.  
  
Ginny chose to lag behind with Jeremy rather than bound ahead to the Quidditch players. He smiled at her like her decision to walk by him mattered.  
  
"We don't have to play Quidditch if you don't want to," Jeremy said, continuing hopefully, "We could go back to the castle and hang out--"  
  
"And snog?"  
  
Jeremy grinned.  
  
"Right now I think I'd like to play," Ginny said; Jeremy's face fell minutely, so she added with a small smile, "but I may have to take you up on that offer later."  
  
His grin returned as they stepped foot on the practice field. Six boys and Cora held their broomsticks while arguing heatedly over the unfairness of numbers or something equally unimportant. Harry took charge just as Ginny and Jeremy arrived at the scene.  
  
"We have an odd number of people? Fine. I'll be the ref," Harry said, throwing his hands up.  
  
Isaac Tines and Nate Werner, two seventh-year Claws, would have none of that, and started a new argument over which of them would ref in Harry's stead. Dean finally solved the problem by proclaiming himself ref, no if's, and's, or but's about it.  
  
Continuing to control the situation, Harry chose teams, himself captaining Seamus, Isaac, and Cora, while Ron led Nate, Jeremy, and Ginny. The Seeker would double as Keeper, Harry had decided, and there would be only one Beater, and two Chasers per team.  
  
Ron allowed Ginny the position of Beater, choosing Chaser for himself instead. He'd been the all-around reserve for the Gryffindor squad his fifth year, excelling especially at Beater and Chaser. When the twins graduated, Ron and Ginny had taken their places.  
  
Ginny knew little about Nate's playing style, beyond what Harry had taught her about Ravenclaw formation in general ("they prefer the left side of the field, watch out for their nasty Dying Quail trick...") but he'd been on the Ravenclaw team for three years, so she figured he had to have some talent.  
  
Jeremy was the reserve Seeker for Ravenclaw, a position he'd occupied for going on four years now, and about which he was more than a little bitter. He especially resented Amy Tamara's "usurpation" of the open Seeker position at tryouts a week ago. The way Jeremy told it, Amy had beaten him out not so much in skill but in upperclassman status. Privately Ginny considered Amy Tamara the more talented Seeker, but she never would have said that to Jeremy.  
  
Everyone floated a few feet above the center of the field before the start of the game. Dean freed the Bludgers and the Snitch, tossed up the Quaffle, and the game began. Ginny watched the rapid-fire passes between Ron and Nate: Ron to Nate, Nate to Ron, boom, boom, boom! And suddenly Seamus intercepted it and flew the other way, passed to Cora--Ginny rapidly lost interest in the Chasers, concentrating instead on whacking a Bludger as powerfully as possible in Seamus's direction. She aimed it in his path, timing it so that it whizzed by his head just as he was in the middle of passing to Cora. It caught him so off guard that he dropped the Quaffle mid-wind-up, and Ron nabbed it and took off.  
  
Ginny grinned.  
  
"Nice shot," a drawling voice observed from somewhere behind and above her. "I didn't realize Gryffindors used that tactic."  
  
Ginny whirled around, her smile already replaced by a hard line by the time she caught sight of Draco Malfoy hovering behind her, wearing his Quidditch robes and a malicious grin. "You thought only Slytherins could be cunning? How typically Slytherin."  
  
"Cunning isn't exactly part of the Gryffindor job description. Brave, okay; stupid, certainly; cunning, no."  
  
"Stupid?"  
  
"Like Longbottom, for one. Guess the Hufflepuff quota was all filled up by the time he got to the Sorting Hat."  
  
Ginny casually heaved a convenient Bludger in Malfoy's direction. The almost lazy motion of her bat had deceived many an unsuspecting player into fatal carelessness, and Malfoy appeared to be one of them: he hadn't even bothered to move yet, though the Bludger careened towards him. Just before the dull thud of ball against body, a sound Ginny swore she didn't enjoy, Malfoy swerved minutely to the right, in a motion almost as nonchalant as Ginny's.  
  
"Easily angered today, aren't we?" Malfoy oozed silkily. "Don't tell me Longbottom actually means something to you, Weasley. You may have gone to the Yule Ball with him three years ago, but we all know that was just a pity date."  
  
"I have never dated anyone out of pity," Ginny glared at him. If she wasn't so angry she might have speculated more on how Malfoy remembered she'd gone to the Yule Ball with Neville in third year. "Neville is a very good person and I was honored to go with him."  
  
Malfoy shook his head dismissively. "Weasley, Weasley. Even I know better than that. You were happy to get to go to the Ball. Longbottom was only your means to that end. He meant nothing to you."  
  
"Neville is my friend, Malfoy, and he knew perfectly well he meant nothing more to me than that when he asked me, and he never expected anything more than friendship from me, and I went with him because I genuinely wanted to go with him, and why am I explaining all this to you anyway?" Ginny paused briefly to catch her breath, continuing just as rapidly, "Why do you care what happened between me and Neville Longbottom three years ago? I can't see why this matters to you, unless you have a secret crush on him and you're checking out his background...?"  
  
"You may rest assured that that is mostly certainly not the case." Malfoy looked faintly and snootily repulsed at the very thought.  
  
"Well, I didn't date him out of pity. He's worth ten of you, Malfoy, and that's all there is to it."  
  
"You Gryffindors have really got to get some new lines," Malfoy replied tiredly. "You say you don't date anyone out of pity?"  
  
"That's right." She realized belatedly that she was agreeing with a Malfoy, an act that, in her household, was generally not considered a Healthy Practice. "Why?"  
  
He spread his lips wide to reveal a flash of teeth, reflecting the sunlight so brilliantly that his features blurred together in the glare and she could not see his eyes at all. "If you don't date anyone out of pity, what are you doing with that miserable boyfriend of yours?"  
  
Ginny slammed forward towards Malfoy, jerking back mere feet away from hitting him as a Bludger whizzed within inches of her head.  
  
Bludger. Quidditch. She'd completely forgotten about the game.  
  
"Hey Ginny! Where have you been for the past five minutes?" Cora yelled from across the pitch.  
  
"Yeah, we've needed you!" Jeremy added.  
  
Ginny spun back around to face Malfoy but saw only trees. Damned sneaky bastard. "Be right there!" she called out. She thought she saw a hint of silver and black amidst the evergreens that lined the practice field, but it disappeared and she did not see it again.  
  
Ginny flew over to the area of the main action and found the score to be 110-80 against her team. Her beating skills helped that-they were up 130- 120 when Harry caught the Snitch-but she couldn't attribute her displeasure with the game to being beaten. Harry never lost in Quidditch; as long as his team was still living and breathing, and Harry remained more or less conscious, Harry would win. No, the thwack of bat against Bludger lacked its ordinary satisfaction for another reason entirely.  
  
Damn you, Malfoy, Ginny thought viciously, and repeated it to herself as often as needed for the rest of the morning.  
  
She needed it about twice a minute.  
  
*********  
  
The rest of the day passed in a haze of homework and chatter, a typical nondescript Sunday afternoon. Laraby had started yet another rumor, claiming that Ginny and Jeremy had slept together--not true, but far more plausible than the majority of her gossip--and Ginny let it slide.  
  
Cora slunk back into the Common Room just before dinner, apparently having thoroughly enjoyed her rendevous with Dan Rushing, a gorgeous Ravenclaw 5th year. Cora ordinarily avoided dating younger boys at all costs, but anyone would have made an exception for Dan Rushing. She spent most of the evening sharing the details with most of Gryffindor House, continuing non- stop during dinner.  
  
Ginny couldn't manage to pay attention to her.  
  
She felt Jeremy's eyes on her throughout dinner. She met them only once, brown locking on green, and the corners of his mouth turned up as if he was going to smirk, but he smiled instead, grinned at her openly, not caring who saw. She meant to smile back, because he would have liked that, but her muscles seemed disinclined to be motivated by his cheerfulness. She merely looked at him instead, and even that feeble attention fed his apparent contentment.  
  
Why did he have to be so easily pleased?  
  
She did not look at him again but she could not ignore his unfailing notice. Every glint of candlelight on the tines of her fork, every touch of the pumpkin juice glass to her lips, every bite of steak she chewed far too long and choked down, he marked them all and catalogued them, storing the tiny memories in a glass, to be taken out and admired later.  
  
He did not need such remembrances; he had a thousand memories of steak and potato dinners at Hogwarts already, she was certain. Why would one more make a difference?  
  
She almost wanted to scream at him, Why do you watch me? Why do you stare at me like you're dying, drowning in my presence? Why should I affect you like this?  
  
Why did he stare at her like she was something he wanted but could not have? He already had her, and she would not leave him. He had to know that. There was no need to stare at her like he'd never see her again.  
  
She wished he wouldn't watch her. Even this morning she'd found such attentions flattering; only now did she recognize the danger of his gaze. It made her feel like a specimen under glass: too much time under the microscope, Jeremy would discover things, regardless of what she might do to prevent it. She doubted he would use such knowledge against her, but she didn't want him to know things she didn't know he knew about her, things he might chance to see flicker across her face in a moment when she accidentally let down her guard. She'd always been so careful about maintaining her composure in public; such lapses in her vigilance were few and far between, though they'd been occurring with a good deal more regularity recently, a fluke she'd attributed to lack of sleep. In sleep she could release her emotions; once the curtains were drawn, she could dream freely; she was glad she rarely remembered her dreams. During the days she dreamed of sleep, her head would droop, and the floodgates open gradually.  
  
She'd always caught herself before she revealed too much, but safety never hurt. She had no intentions of being sorry again.  
  
So she longed to scream at Jeremy, to force his gaze away from her, she at whom he of all people should have the right to stare, to close his eyes to her secrets.  
  
But she did not scream, and not only because she found her throat constricted, her tongue dead in her mouth, her lungs tightened almost too painfully for her to bear, but also because it wouldn't have done any good.  
  
He would have kept on staring.  
  
***********  
  
Notes on the chapter:  
  
Much as I wish I'd invented the line "How about some dried prunes and a root canal?" it came from Calvin and Hobbes by Bill Waterson.  
  
The phrase "achingly beautiful" came from Stephen King's The Dead Zone, and has stuck in my head ever since I first read it.  
  
Thanks to reviewers:  
  
li'l grashoppa (Ch. 1&2), sandi (Ch. 1), Ace of Spades, Dracos bitch, Nepherei, Redbug, and lady hawk.  
  
Hopefully Chapter 4 won't take nearly so long (fingers crossed). --Katja 


	4. Fingers Crossed

Title: Crepúsculo (04/?)  
  
Author name: Katja  
  
Author email: katja021@yahoo.com  
  
Category: Romance  
  
Sub Category: General  
  
Keywords: Ginny sixth year  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Spoilers: SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, FB, QTTA  
  
Summary: In which there is a Talk with Hermione, Divination class, and much ado about marsupials.  
  
DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. I borrowed a line from Legally Blonde.  
  
Author notes: Thanks to Soz for the quickest turnaround ever, and everyone who's reviewed.  
  
***********  
  
Crepúsculo  
  
Chapter 4  
  
Fingers Crossed  
  
**************  
  
BEEP BEEP BEEP. BEEP BEEP BEEP. Slam. Thud.  
  
Ginny smiled peacefully, eyes never having opened during the process of relocating the offending alarm clock to the floor. Maggie and Laraby happily resumed snoring.  
  
Cora, on the other hand. She and Ginny had some seriously unresolved morning perkiness issues.  
  
Ginny's bed groaned under Cora's additional weight. Ginny buried herself under the duvet.  
  
"Cora, it's a Monday."  
  
"I know! Isn't it great?"  
  
"Ginny," Laraby whimpered, "make it stop."  
  
"Go 'way." Ginny freed a hand from the covers to swat at Cora. Her aim not being what it could have been if she were actually looking at her target, she missed spectacularly.  
  
"You're missing a beautiful sunrise!"  
  
Ginny raised the pillow enough to glare at the window through one eye. "It's raining."  
  
Cora shrugged. "Then you're missing a beautiful storm!"  
  
"You're in a terminally perky mood," Ginny replied from under the pillow.  
  
"That sounds like a disease."  
  
"Yes, well, if you keep it up, Maggie and Laraby and I may be forced to kill you."  
  
"Dunno about Maggie, but count me in. Definitely," Laraby groaned.  
  
Maggie continued to snore.  
  
Cora abandoned Ginny's bed with a flying leap, landing directly on top of Maggie, who squealed and fell to the floor. "Hi Mags!"  
  
"Bloody fucking HELL, Cora, can't you, for once in your life, let me wake up like a normal person? It's really not that difficult-" Cora's obviously unrepentant snickers interrupted her incensed tirade.  
  
Ginny meant to commiserate with Maggie, but the amusement that crept onto her face conveyed that her loyalties lay elsewhere.  
  
"You people are hopeless," Maggie said, burying herself in the blankets on the floor beside her.  
  
Cora smiled winningly and scooted off to the shower.  
  
Ginny eventually made it out of bed, into the shower, and off to breakfast. Jeremy gave her a nod of acknowledgement as she entered the Great Hall before returning to the pressing matter of his breakfast, and suddenly her reaction to his attention last night seemed irrational and emotional and stupid. She hadn't a clue why the whole thing had bothered her as much as it had.  
  
Before she knew it, the meal had slipped past, and Cora was saying, "Come on, Gin. First bell Divination!"  
  
Cora's unfailing cheerfulness absolutely astounded her sometimes.  
  
After they had arrived in Divination and seated themselves on assorted poufs, chairs, and small furry animals, Trelawney explained that today was the fall equinox, and thus any predictions they attempted would be too strong for them to handle. Therefore they were polishing the Divination Department's extensive collection of crystal balls, a task that rapidly grew so tedious that even Trelawney herself dozed off in her armchair. Ginny didn't blame her. The pouf she herself was sitting on was actually pretty comfortable.  
  
Trelawney suddenly sat bolt upright, eyes wide behind overly decorative glasses. "Students," she breathed, "I have had a Vision," the emphasis of her tone suggesting capitalization.  
  
The class began to yawn awake.  
  
"It is truly awful, my dears. Awful. One of our number"-she paused to look around at the students-"will leave us.and will not return."  
  
Laraby's gasp was exactly on cue. Cora and Ginny exchanged a glance: Yeah, because she definitely hasn't predicted this for the past sixteen years running.  
  
"And this student," Trelawney continued, as Laraby began to gnaw on her fingernails compulsively, "will leave us before the Yule!"  
  
"The Yule?" Cora said.  
  
"She means Christmas," Ginny replied.  
  
Laraby made a valiant effort to faint. Trelawney revived her by holding smelling salts to her nose after a few moments.  
  
"Pity she didn't just leave Laraby unconscious," Cora said.  
  
No kidding.  
  
With the exception of Laraby, however, the Gryffindors looked singularly unimpressed with Professor Trelawney's performance. Maybe hearing the same prediction from her each of the past three years had something to do with their lack of reaction.  
  
One of the boys, Ricky Morison, raised his hand. "How do you know?"  
  
Trelawney glared at him over her purple horn-rims. "How do I know what?"  
  
"That one of us isn't going to last past Christmas."  
  
"Because my Inner Eye informed me of it."  
  
A couple of half-suppressed snickers sneaked into the air. No one admitted to them, although multiple students looked shifty.  
  
"But what if you're misinterpreting it?"  
  
"I do not misinterpret my Inner Eye."  
  
Ricky persisted, "But how do we know that?"  
  
Trelawney glared. "If you must, I'll show it to you in the crystal ball." She selected a periwinkle crystal and told the class to gather around her. The ball began to glow and she levitated it in the air. "Look at it, my dears, and see for yourselves."  
  
Ginny saw nothing but cloudy blue glass at first, but dark shapes began to move through the mists. She saw the glint of a knife, leaves on the ground, flames, two figures-and the ball went dark.  
  
"Well, class? What did you see?"  
  
"Blue mist," Cora said, and the class laughed.  
  
Ginny laughed with them, blaming the images she'd thought she'd seen on the room's hazy atmosphere. Anyone could imagine they were having Visions in this room, with all the perfume and purple poufs. Ron had been right all along: Trelawney was an old crackpot.  
  
***********  
  
Ginny managed to survive the rest of her classes, but the headache that had sprung up just after Divination wasn't helping, nor was the ridiculous amount of homework for the next day.  
  
She and Cora were sitting at a table in the corner of the Common Room, frantically scribbling away on their Transfiguration essays, due first bell tomorrow morning. They had long since realized that there was simply nothing more to say on the subject of transfiguring kettles into koalas, especially as neither of them had any idea what a koala was. They were hoping it was some sort of bird.  
  
"Maybe we should have asked someone about koalas," Cora said after some time.  
  
"Too late now. I'm not rewriting this essay even if koalas turn out to be expensive Persian rugs."  
  
Cora nodded in agreement, just as Hermione's head appeared in the midst of their stacks of books, saying, "Honestly, don't you two know anything about non-magical creatures?"  
  
Ginny and Cora exchanged a glance. "Nope."  
  
Hermione groaned. "They offer Muggle Studies for a reason, you know. They should make it a requirement for pureblooded wizards."  
  
"Are you going to campaign for that, now, too?"  
  
Hermione whipped around. "Shut up, Ron." Returning to Ginny and Cora, she said, "A koala is a marsupial."  
  
"A marsiwhat?"  
  
"A marsupial. It's an animal that-oh, nevermind. It's an Australian animal that looks like a gray teddy bear."  
  
"Oh," Ginny and Cora responded, enlightened. Not that they were going to rewrite their essays to include this information or anything.  
  
"I'm glad I was able to clear that up for you. Anyway, the reason I'm here is that I need to talk to you, Ginny."  
  
"Look, Hermione, not to be rude, but I have a ridiculously large amount of homework due in the morning," Ginny said, gesturing at the mounds of books. "Is there any way this can wait till tomorrow?"  
  
Hermione's eyes had taken on a wistful tint, most likely at the sight of so many heavy books in one place. "Tomorrow evening, then. I'll look for you in here."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
Hermione nodded and disappeared.  
  
"Wonder what she wants with you, anyway," Cora said. Ginny was contemplating the same thing.  
  
***********  
  
Tuesday morning Transfiguration came and went without mention of handing in the kettle-koala essays, though a poster labeled KOALA in large bold letters had somehow affixed itself to the blackboard. Ginny wondered if the professor was hinting at something. Being a teacher, McGonagall was probably trying to give her class time to correct their essays. Being lazy students, few of them had any inclination to do so.  
  
At lunch Jeremy asked her if she wanted to go to the Three Broomsticks with him in two Saturdays, on their first Hogsmeade weekend of the year. Almost every boy she knew would have assumed that his girlfriend was going with him; it was old-fashioned and sincere and noble of him to ask, and reminded Ginny of that batty old knight in the portrait, Sir Cadogan, than anything else.  
  
Ginny slept through History of Magic, ate an abbreviated dinner, and went to Quidditch practice. By the time she made it back to the Common Room, it was nearly eight, and she was sweaty, stinky, and ready for bed.  
  
"There you are, Ginny," Hermione materialized at her side. "Let's go back to my room to talk."  
  
"Can I take a shower first?"  
  
Hermione shook her head. "No, I've been waiting for you all evening. Come on."  
  
"But I just got out of practice. You sure you want me in your room like this?" Not to mention that talking to Hermione wasn't exactly a priority of hers at the moment. She wouldn't argue with a shower, pajamas, and her bed, but a conversation with Hermione, even a friendly one, would require more alertness than she felt she could muster up at this point in the evening.  
  
"Don't worry, Hermione, if she stinks up your room, I'm sure the house elves will take care of it," Ron put in, grinning cheekily.  
  
"Will you please give the house elves thing a rest?" Hermione snapped. "I gave up on S.P.E.W. two years ago."  
  
Ron shrugged, and winked at Ginny.  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Come on, Ginny."  
  
Ginny followed her reluctantly. Hermione led her up a stairway in the far corner of the Common Room, and paused at the top of the stairs to play with something on her wrist. Ginny examined the door, which proclaimed it the room of Hermione Granger, Head Girl, while Hermione produced a key she wore on a bracelet.  
  
"The door can't be opened by magic," Hermione explained, wriggling the key in the lock. "The rooms of the Head Boy and Head Girl are protected by some of the strongest enchantments in the castle, and the keys can't be copied."  
  
Hogwarts, A History, page 3802, Ginny thought dryly.  
  
The door swung open to reveal Hermione's room. Ginny gaped. Far from the immaculate quarters she'd expected, Hermione's room was a disaster. Her desk was covered with books, papers, and quills; expansive diagrams of complex Arithmancy problems coated the floor; clothes dangled off desk corners, doorknobs, and every other conceivable hook, except the actual hangers.  
  
"You'll have to excuse the mess," Hermione said.  
  
"It's fine," Ginny said, staring at a pair of boxer shorts (boxer shorts?) that appeared to be stuck to the wall of their own accord. "You just never struck me as the messy room sort."  
  
"Haven't got the time to clean it," Hermione replied matter-of-factly. "I'd rather stay friends with Harry and Ron than organize my room."  
  
"Good point."  
  
"Hardly anyone ever sees it, at any rate," Hermione added. "I only brought you in here because the Head Boy's using our office."  
  
"For what?"  
  
"Head Boy business," Hermione said, looking decidedly shifty. She pulled out a businesslike tone and continued, "But you're distracting me from why I brought you here."  
  
"It's a talent of mine."  
  
"Yes, I'd noticed. Sit down." She gestured at a chair in front of the desk. Ginny picked up the bras and underwear on top of the chair and delicately placed them on the floor. She sat, as did Hermione, who was rummaging around on her desk. Eventually she found a quill and a more or less blank sheet of parchment. She cleared off an assortment of school- related items from the desk and said, "You're probably wondering why I asked you to come here."  
  
"Yeah, that had crossed my mind."  
  
"At the end of last year, when Stephen Cornfoot and I were selected as Head Boy and Head Girl, Professor Dumbledore had us meet with him regarding our duties for this school year. With the political situation being what it is, there are certain precautions we have put into place to prevent any regrettable situations from occurring."  
  
"Like Barty Crouch convincing everyone he was Professor Moody two years ago?"  
  
Hermione's eyes flashed briefly. "I don't suppose I need to mention that that's classified information." Ginny shook her head. "Some of the precautions we are taking involve behavioral analysis of the students and faculty. The prefects are in charge of this, under the guidance of Stephen Cornfoot and myself. We are, over the course of the year, conducting interviews with the student body in order to obtain information about occurrences in the school."  
  
"What kinds of occurrences?"  
  
"Everything that happens in the school," Hermione said smoothly. "We select the students we interview through a random screening process, and your name came up. Do you have any objections to this interview?"  
  
Ginny shook her head. "No."  
  
"All right, then, I'll begin." Hermione wetted her quill. "First off, have you had any trouble with school lately?"  
  
"Other than way too much homework, no."  
  
"Sixth year did have a lot of work," Hermione said wistfully. "Are any of your classes particularly difficult?"  
  
"Just Potions. But that's nothing newsworthy."  
  
"Besides Snape, do you especially dislike any of your teachers?"  
  
"Some of the classes are a joke, but no, not really."  
  
"Which classes?"  
  
"Professor Trelawney's."  
  
"Ahh," Hermione said. "For any particular reason?"  
  
Ginny got the distinct feeling that Hermione knew exactly what she meant and was asking only for decorum's sake. "Any class where we spend two hours polishing crystal balls strikes me as a joke."  
  
Hermione nodded. "And how do you feel about Professor Trelawney?"  
  
Ginny thought for a moment. "Her Inner Eye's a load of bull."  
  
Hermione couldn't quite hide a small smile. "How is Quidditch going?"  
  
"Fine. But Harry could have told you that."  
  
"Of course." Hermione looked down at her paper for a moment. "Tell me about your personal life."  
  
"What do you want to know?"  
  
"You're dating a Ravenclaw, aren't you?"  
  
"News certainly gets around quickly here. It's only been a week."  
  
Hermione smiled. "It's Hogwarts. Everyone knows everything."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"What's his name?"  
  
"Jeremy Hayden."  
  
"Oh," Hermione said in recognition. "He's something of a troublemaker, from what I've heard."  
  
Ginny smiled. "No worse than my brothers."  
  
"It's pretty impossible to be more of a troublemaker than Fred or George," Hermione replied. "And your relationship with him is good?"  
  
"Hermione, we've been dating for a week. But we've been friends for years."  
  
"All right, then. I don't have any more questions." she trailed off, then said slowly, "Well, one more. On the Hogwarts Express, when I was talking to you in the hallway, your jokes had teeth. I didn't remember you being like that."  
  
The relaxed mood of the meeting flickered.  
  
"You remember me as the little girl who liked pink dresses even though they clashed miserably with her hair, who had a hopeless crush on Harry Potter, and who wanted to go to Hogwarts more than anything."  
  
"What are you trying to say?" All casualness had disappeared from Hermione's tone.  
  
"That I changed a long time ago." She looked at Hermione. "Is there anything else?"  
  
Hermione shook her head.  
  
"I'm going to go take a shower now," she said, standing up.  
  
Hermione stood up as well. "Thank you for your time," she said abruptly, and extended her hand. Ginny touched it lightly, and left.  
  
She took her shower and put on her pajamas and lay in her bed, and did not fall asleep until dim morning light crept through the curtains and colored the carpet gray.  
  
***********  
  
Around Wednesday Ginny had the nagging feeling that something about this week was abnormal. By Thursday she'd figured out what it was: Draco Malfoy hadn't threatened, insulted, injured, or assaulted her in any way since Sunday morning, nor had he sent her any notes detailing clandestine meetings in towers. She didn't know what to do without his constant presence in her life.  
  
Other than thoroughly enjoy herself, of course.  
  
She was beginning to hope he'd forgotten about her altogether. He had to have a full schedule of Muggleborns to torment, first years to terrorize, and Young Death Eater meetings to organize, not to mention performing his Prefect duties, as he'd managed to bribe his way into the position. Add to that the many hours spent perfecting his hair each morning, and Draco Malfoy was apparently a very busy snake. It would hardly surprise Ginny if, between so many pressing demands on his time, she'd somehow slipped to the bottom of his To Do list.  
  
By Friday morning Ginny was in a better mood than she'd been in all term. She had Ancient Runes, her favorite class, last bell-never mind that she had to get through double Potions first; that was only a tiny black smudge on her day-Jeremy had kissed her at breakfast, and when his hands touched her back her stomach had flip-flopped; and on top of all that, it was Friday, a day that invariably ameliorated her outlook on life. She was so happy by the end of breakfast that she managed to exit the Great Hall through exactly the wrong door and was down two flights of stairs before she realized her blunder.  
  
She tried to retrace her steps, but the staircases had shifted, leaving her eight minutes further away from Potions than she would have been, had she exited by the statue of Bathsheba the Birdbrained rather than by that of Bethesda the Brokenhearted. She swore under her breath and took off, sprinting down the West-North-Western Hallway, dodging a group of ghosts, knocking over a few first years, and mowing over everything else in her way. She rounded the final corner onto Snape's hallway-and hit something solid and unyielding. She fell backwards with a groan; her bookbag broke open and scattered supplies everywhere. She caught a glimpse of floating silver hair as she fell.  
  
"A bit clumsy today, aren't we, Weasley?" Malfoy smirked, making no move to collect her books or help her up.  
  
Ginny resisted the urge to growl. "Aren't you cheerful, Malfoy. Have you been dismembering Ravenclaws again? Or was it Hufflepuffs, because that I could get into."  
  
"You sound positively Slytherin," Malfoy remarked, making what should have been a compliment sound derogatory. He added as an afterthought, "Not that we allow such scum into Slytherin."  
  
"Funny, as I've always viewed Slytherin as the scum. Speaking of which, why don't you scamper off and rejoin your fellow fungal growths? I have a class to attend." She slid the last of her books into her bag and marched purposefully towards him. "Excuse you, you're in my way."  
  
He made no effort to move, only smiled falsely and said, "Don't think you can leave that easily, Weasley." He stepped closer. "When you may leave, I'll let you know." He lunged forward to claim her mouth, sucked on her breath, made her dizzy. She fell onto him in hopes that the world might stop spinning. It didn't. She felt his arms circle around her, his body press against hers, and she responded to his kiss with a passion that made his eyes widen-forcing his lips open, delving into his mouth, clutching at his shoulders, drunkenly dragging her fingers through his hair. He reciprocated in kind, reaching his hand behind her head to bring her closer to him, thrusting his tongue inside her mouth-and she bit down, hard, until she tasted his blood.  
  
She pushed him away, licked her lips, and walked off, reveling in the expression of stunned surprise she'd evoked on his features. Professor Snape took away ten points for tardiness and almost gave her a detention, but she didn't care. Biting Draco Malfoy was worth ten detentions.  
  
************  
  
Ginny didn't see Malfoy at breakfast on Saturday, or at any of the other meals all weekend, for that matter. She was a little disappointed-she'd wanted to give him a predatory grin while licking her chops-but wasn't about to let it get in the way of enjoying her weekend, or rather her sleep: she hadn't a clue why, but she was exhausted. She barely left the dormitories except at mealtimes, and spent most of her days asleep in bed.  
  
By the end of the weekend she had almost convinced herself that Malfoy had given up on her. Maybe she'd finally managed to rid herself of him, and now he would leave her alone and she would never have to speak to him again.  
  
Maybe she could believe it now, as she lay in bed with the covers drawn up to her chin and the curtains closed around her. She was safe here in bed. Maybe she could never leave it. 


	5. Before the Storm

Title: Crepúsculo (05/?)  
  
Author name: Katja  
  
Author email: katja021@yahoo.com  
  
Category: Romance  
  
Sub Category: Mystery  
  
Keywords: Ginny Draco Jeremy Shrieking Shack  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Spoilers: SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, FB, QTTA  
  
Summary: A visit to the Shrieking Shack and a visit from an unwanted guest  
make Ginny's Hogmeade trip quite different from what she'd expected. DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and  
owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is  
intended. Author notes: Huge thanks to Soz for the beta, as usual, and to reviewers.  
  
Crepúsculo 5  
  
Before the Storm  
  
It was Tuesday morning, and the sixth year Gryffindors had already survived half of Double Potions with the Slytherins. Accomplishment though that was, Ginny was not particularly optimistic about her chances of escaping the Potions dungeon alive, not only because Snape hated Gryffindors in general and Weasleys in particular, but also because Ginny and Cora's potion, which was supposed to be a benign shade of beige, had turned to luminescent lime.  
  
"Do you think we should ask somebody for help?" Ginny said.  
  
Cora shrugged. "Nah. We can fix it."  
  
"Because we're Potions geniuses." Ginny rolled her eyes.  
  
"Exactly." Cora studied her notes from the beginning of class. "Does this say bat's brains or beetle's back?"  
  
".And don't forget that the slightest error while brewing this potion can result in dire consequences, the least of which will involve immediate explosion," Snape informed the class.  
  
"I'm not sure," Ginny said. "Beetle's back?"  
  
"Okay," Cora said, adding a pinch without bothering to check her notes for the correct quantity. Ginny braced herself for an explosion; thankfully, none came. "Did I tell you what Dan and I did last night?"  
  
Dan Rushing had become Cora's boyfriend as of Saturday night, in circumstances that were no less mysterious to Dan than they were to Ginny. Ginny had attempted to question Cora on the matter, but Cora would reveal nothing except that she had utilized her "feminine wiles" and that said feminine wiles had necessitated the use of a jar of bread-and-butter pickles.  
  
Some parts of life, Ginny reflected, you just weren't meant to understand.  
  
".So anyway, when we got to the storage closet, we found a billy goat instead of a couch!" Cora had reached the punch line; unfortunately, Ginny had missed the joke. She'd been too busy concentrating on what Cora was doing to their potion: tossing in random ingredients in unmeasured quantities, with a total disregard for their directions or Potions theory or common sense-and the potion had finally taken notice, turning from bright green to yellow to a dangerous shade of red.  
  
"Uh, Cora?" Ginny said. The potion was bubbling ominously-and were those flames on the surface? "DUCK!"  
  
The concoction exploded.  
  
**************  
  
Ginny awoke under the incredibly uncomfortable scrutiny of Professor Snape's beetle-black eyes. "Ah, Miss Weasley"-few people on this earth could rival Draco Malfoy in terms of the degree of snobby disdain they could instill into Ginny's last name, but Snape was certainly one of them; 'slimy fungal growth' would have sounded positively pleasant by comparison- "awake, and, indeed, alive, are we?"  
  
Ginny glared at him.  
  
"That last is most unfortunate. If only you'd added mormod root instead of magmar extract, you would have created a highly toxic-" His pause, Ginny quickly realized, was not the result of any qualms on Snape's part, but rather due to Professor McGonagall's buffering presence at his side. "But, as there's nothing to be done about the unpleasant fact of your existence at the moment," Snape continued, "Professor McGonagall has kindly agreed to meet with me so that your expulsion can be made final."  
  
McGonagall issued a cautionary, "Severus." while Ginny sat up and burst out, "But we weren't making Restricted Potions, Professor, and it wasn't even a serious accident-"  
  
"Firstly, correction, you weren't supposed to be making Restricted Potions. What you actually created was, however, a Type B Hallucinogen, clearly illegal under the Restriction Reform Codes of 1672. And in answer to your other claim, your highly Restricted mistake did, indeed, cause a serious accident, which you, of course, would have no way of knowing, as you were knocked out in the initial explosion by a flying piece of your own cauldron."  
  
Ginny blanched. "Is Cora okay?"  
  
"Miss Delera is currently in the Gryffindor Common Room," McGonagall said, to which Snape added with a sneer, "Awaiting word of the unfortunate misfit she befriended."  
  
Cora, you little rascal, Ginny grinned to herself. One of these years Ginny would figure out how Cora managed to evade punishment so effectively. Not once in their time at Hogwarts had Cora gotten caught for something she and Ginny had done.  
  
"But currently," Snape continued, "I would suggest that you divert your attention away from Miss Delera and consider, rather, what the nature of your punishment shall be." When connected to a Weasley, "punishment" apparently became a synonym for all things joyous in the world.  
  
"The nature of my punishment.not the question of it?" Ginny looked between the two professors and found no allies.  
  
"Having seen the effects of your potion and having heard Professor Snape's account of the events"-which was, of course, perfectly impartial-"I'm afraid that there is no doubt with regards to the fact of your impending punishment."  
  
She meant impending doom.  
  
"So you agree with me, Minerva, that expulsion is the only logical course of action?" Snape looked more than a little maniacal, as though Christmas had arrived early.  
  
McGonagall stared at him, and said, "Miss Weasley, please return to your dormitory. I will send word when Professor Snape and I have agreed as to the course of your punishment."  
  
Snape scowled. Ginny left. As she exited the classroom, she heard McGonagall clearly refuse to expel Ginny, thank goodness. She refrained from jumping up and down and shouting for joy, but she did permit herself to glance back at Snape's expression, and was it ever priceless. Snape's Christmas had, apparently, been cancelled.  
  
**************  
  
McGonagall's intervention might have set back Snape in his quest to rid Hogwarts of Weasleys forever, but it did not prevent him from seeking the most severe punishment Dumbledore would allow. "You would think that such a heinous crime would merit more than one measly month of torture-I mean, detention," Snape grumbled one week into Ginny's sentence as an inmate in the Snape's Office Jail. "Under the old rules, it would have been permissible to remove as many of your appendages as you destroyed cauldrons. Or I could have at least locked you in the prison dungeons until you rotted! In chains!"  
  
Snape sounded alarmingly similar to Filch, but Ginny refrained from commenting. As far as she was concerned, being locked in the dungeons and left to rot would have been a fate far preferable to spending thirty evenings in the company of Professor Snape. Over the first week alone, she had already squashed squirrel spleens, boiled beaver brains, minced mice, disemboweled dingbats, and scrubbed every cauldron in the school's possession since the Dark Ages. Her lone consolation about this last was that at least he had not required that she lick the cauldrons clean.  
  
***************** Saturday morning dawned clear, cool, and beautiful: perfect Hogsmeade weather. Though Cora's return to the dormitory at four a.m. would have suggested that she might sleep to a decently human hour, by eight o'clock Cora had already bounced out of bed, showered, and coerced Ginny into clothing, managing to be twice as perky as Ginny while running on less than half the sleep.  
  
"You have to look amazing today, Ginny," Cora told her. "It's your official first date with Jeremy Hayden!"  
  
Which was a strange way of looking at this Hogsmeade visit, but true, oddly enough. Of course, there weren't but so many things you could do for a date at Hogwarts. "Great, Cora, now you've gone and gotten me nervous," Ginny said.  
  
"Oh, don't worry. You'll be fine.as long as everything's perfect!" Ginny had never known Cora could cackle so wickedly.  
  
"Cora Delera, evil demon matchmaker," Ginny said.  
  
Cora grinned. "You know you love me."  
  
When they arrived at breakfast, Ginny was relieved to discover that Cora had sprung the First Date line on Jeremy as well. He looked about as pale as.as an albino Malfoy, because you just couldn't get any paler than that.  
  
Neither Ginny nor Jeremy could stomach much breakfast, though Cora gladly relieved them of their leftovers.  
  
"The whole 'first date' comment was your way of making sure you got extra bacon this morning, wasn't it?" Ginny said suspiciously.  
  
"Ginny! I can't believe you would accuse me of such an underhanded trick!" Cora exclaimed, though her unrepentant grin was more than enough proof for Ginny that her theory had been correct, and she set about attacking Cora with the serving tongs.  
  
Luckily, Jeremy managed to pry them apart before their scuttle degenerated into an all-out food fight, which no Gryffindor, regardless of any maturity he or she might ordinarily possess, could have passed up. After Jeremy escorted them out of the Great Hall, one of them on each arm, claiming all the way that they would thank him later for saving their sorry hides from the wrath of McGonagall, Cora and Ginny engaged in a round of sticking their tongues out at each other until they burst out in hysterical laughter. Jeremy's attempt at a straight face lasted all of five seconds before he laughed with them. "You two are really too much."  
  
They arrived in Hogsmeade and visited the usual haunts, stocking up on a liberal supply of dungbombs because, as Jeremy said, "somebody has to carry on the Weasley twins' legacy." They were sipping butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks, waiting for Dan Rushing to join them-he had been given morning detention for disrupting Hagrid's class for the third time in as many days- when Ginny had the sensation of being watched. The butterbeer in her hand froze halfway to her lips, but she forced herself to drink it; she couldn't let her watcher know she was aware of him if she wanted to catch him at it.  
  
At first she suspected, stupidly, that people were looking at her because they were commenting on how cute she and Jeremy looked together. A quick glance around the Three Broomsticks proved that this was hardly the case: no one was paying them any more attention than anyone else in the room.  
  
Then she thought it might be Jeremy, remembering the irrational impulses that had raced through her under his gaze during dinner a few weeks ago. But surely that had been temporary madness, and she felt none of that desperate urgency now. Today he was merely smiling and looking cute and perfect, exactly as a boy was supposed to look on his first date with a girl he really liked.  
  
Ginny waited for the sensation of being watched again, but, in the fifteen minutes it took for Dan Rushing to arrive at the Three Broomsticks, she did not feel it once. She was eventually forced to admit to herself that she had imagined the whole thing.  
  
*****************  
  
The four of them had been wandering around Hogsmeade for a mere five minutes when Cora whined, "I'm bored."  
  
Dan Rushing looked slightly pained, as if he were already failing in his newly acquired job as Cora's boyfriend-never mind that he had neither sought nor played any cognizant role in acquiring said position. Poor kid. If he'd asked Ginny, she could have told him that Cora did this every time they went to Hogsmeade, and that it had no connection to any actual boredom, but was rather the signal for Jeremy to say, "I've got an idea," and grin and continue, "It's been a while since we went to the Shrieking Shack."  
  
Which Jeremy did, right on cue.  
  
Cora bounced up and down, any semblance of boredom, feigned or no, having dissipated, and grabbed the hand of one very confused Dan Rushing, and squealed, "Yeah! Let's go!"  
  
Dan Rushing had a lot to learn about being Cora's boyfriend.  
  
Jeremy turned to Ginny and said, "If you're up to it, that is."  
  
Ginny matched him grin for grin. "Me back down on a challenge? Not on your life."  
  
When they arrived at the Shrieking Shack, Ginny grabbed Jeremy's arm and whined in her best spoiled brat voice, "Daddy, Daddy, I wanna go in the haunted house! Can I? Can I?"  
  
Jeremy patted her on the head and said, "Okay, sweetie," then burst out laughing. "You are so weird."  
  
"But you love me anyway?" Ginny smiled.  
  
"Yeah," and the look on his face was suddenly so serious that she wished she'd chosen a different phrasing when she'd fished for a compliment.  
  
Luckily, Cora chose that exact moment to detach herself from Dan and bound over to them. "So," Cora said, wagging an eyebrow, "who'll be the first victim?"  
  
Between Ginny's relief and Jeremy's surprise, it took them both a moment to realize she was referring to the Shrieking Shack.  
  
"Dan," Ginny said, just as Jeremy said, "You," to Cora.  
  
Cora shook her finger at them. "Dan's never been in the Shrieking Shack before-"  
  
"Never been in the Shrieking Shack?" Jeremy said. "He's definitely got to go first."  
  
"-But what I was saying, when you so rudely interrupted me," Cora, ever the paragon of polite behavior, continued, sticking her tongue out at Jeremy, "is that Dan wants to make sure you come out alive after going in there."  
  
Jeremy began to make ghostly moaning noises, and Ginny put in, "Because it really is haunted, you know. By.demons! And-and swamp creatures!"  
  
"Swamp creatures," Dan repeated. "From the local swamp."  
  
"Right," Jeremy grinned. Everyone burst out laughing.  
  
"Okay, so there aren't any swamp creatures," Jeremy admitted. "So, Dan, you ready?"  
  
"I think I'll wait," Dan said.  
  
"You, then, Cora," Ginny said.  
  
"I'd better stay here with Dan. You know, in case any swamp creatures come after him." What she really meant was, so that she could snog the living daylights out of him, but Ginny felt no urgent need to enlighten the general public of this discrepancy.  
  
Jeremy let out a long-suffering sigh. "All right, Ginny, it's down to you and me." It always came down to Jeremy and Ginny, and they always arm- wrestled for the privilege of entering the Shrieking Shack first. This time, like so many others, Ginny won. She suspected Jeremy of letting her win-not that he ever gave up, but he didn't utilize all of his strength-and he knew that she liked to go in the Shrieking Shack first.  
  
With the other three egging her on, Ginny feigned reluctance as she approached the Shrieking Shack. She wasn't actually reluctant at all, but this, too, was part of the ritual, a piece of the play they put on for their own entertainment. Once inside, she would make certain to fake a few banshee screams and stop around like a troll.  
  
She opened the door, glanced back at the others, waved-  
  
-and was pulled forcibly over the threshold, the door slamming shut behind her.  
  
*****************  
  
Ginny did not scream. She could not find her voice at all.  
  
She'd been inside the Shrieking Shack for a few minutes, and her heart rate had finally begun to slow, but she was still breathing like a racehorse and she couldn't calm down. She had already searched the downstairs twice, and she hadn't discovered a trace of the person whose hand had forced her into the house. All the money in the world couldn't have forced her upstairs; doing so would leave her with a woefully reduced number of escape routes, were her attacker to reappear.  
  
Though she had found no physical evidence of her assailant, the sensation of eyes on her and the urgency from the Three Broomsticks gripped her suddenly. She needed to escape.  
  
When she discovered that the front door was locked, however, she worried that her escape routes had been significantly reduced downstairs as well.  
  
Oh, shit.  
  
She whipped out her wand to whisper a quick, "Alohomara," but before the word even left her lips, her wand vacated her fingers to the sound of "Accio wand."  
  
"I really wouldn't try that if I were you," came an amused voice from across the room. "The Shrieking Shack so dislikes having magic performed upon it."  
  
"I couldn't try it if I wanted to," Ginny replied, "seeing as you've taken my wand."  
  
The voice chuckled, and she thought she knew that laugh from somewhere but couldn't quite place it. "Ah, Weasley, you were always so clever. Always the brightest one in your family."  
  
"Is that supposed to be an insult?"  
  
"Think of it what you will."  
  
"I think it sounded like an insult. I also think I'd rather be insulted to my face than from behind an invisibility cloak."  
  
The voice chuckled again. "Anything for you, Weasley."  
  
Draco Malfoy stepped out from behind a chair to Ginny's left that she knew she'd checked behind several times.  
  
"But you know, Weasley," he drawled, "there's really very little point in insulting people."  
  
Ginny stared. "That's a very un-Malfoy-like sentiment."  
  
"Oh, no, not at all. It's always been Malfoy family policy to avoid insulting people. Why insult people when a good, accurate death threat takes care of the problem so much more quickly? Cleaner, too."  
  
"And I suppose your family consistently follow up on these death threats?"  
  
Malfoy shrugged elegantly. "Only on a priority basis. Though on certain days my father does take care of a larger portion of the list than usual."  
  
"On his more evil days?"  
  
"Don't expect me to deny my father's reputation and tell you he's really a kindhearted individual with a certain penchant for small cuddly animals."  
  
"Wasn't gonna."  
  
"Although he does enjoy torturing Hufflepuffs, if that counts."  
  
"Charming as this conversation is, Malfoy, I'd really like to get back to Hogsmeade now," Ginny interrupted.  
  
"You are in Hogsmeade."  
  
"Not in the part of it I'd like to be in, at any rate. Would you mind terribly if I left?" Her hand was on the doorknob.  
  
"You're not going anywhere, Weasley," Malfoy grinned. "Especially not if you keep your hand on that doorknob."  
  
"What do you-" She looked down at her hand and shrieked: it had turned the same shade of metal at the doorknob, and her fingers felt heavy and wouldn't move-  
  
"Let her go," Malfoy said lazily, and the house groaned. Ginny's hand fell from the doorknob and began to return to its normal shade.  
  
"What is this place?" Ginny couldn't help but wonder aloud. She hated the fear in her voice.  
  
"Different from anything you've ever imagined it, I'm sure," he said. She had to marvel at the political genius of his response: he'd answered exactly what she'd asked without revealing a single piece of information she couldn't have determined for herself.  
  
"Believe me when I say I'm intrigued by the place," Ginny said, "but I'd really rather go. My wand, please." She held out her hand and mentally crossed her fingers, hoping he'd had enough fun for one morning.  
  
Malfoy only laughed. "Oh, Weasley, you're too much. You're so eager to leave. You remind me of a little dog I used to have."  
  
"I'm not your little dog, Malfoy," Ginny said angrily.  
  
"You may not be my dog, but you are mine."  
  
Ginny shivered involuntarily. "I'm not your anything."  
  
The knowing smile on his face had not faded. She'd seen that smile before. "Not yet," he told her. "But you will be."  
  
And suddenly he had vanished, Ginny's wand and all.  
  
Someone was knocking on the door.  
  
"Don't come in, it's a-" The word "trap" fell from her mouth as the door sung open and Cora entered the room, evidently perfectly fine. Ginny stared at Cora's hand: not metal, not wood, ordinary flesh and bone.  
  
"Are you okay, Ginny?" Cora asked her. "It'd been a while since you went in, and we heard you scream, and we weren't sure if you were trying to scare Dan or what, but if you were trying to scare him, it worked-and are you okay, because you look kind-of pale."  
  
"I'm fine," Ginny said. "No, I'm not. I think I might throw up."  
  
Cora grabbed her arm and said, "Come on, let's get you outside."  
  
As they left the Shrieking Shack, Ginny could have sworn she heard a low, rumbling chuckle echo through the house.  
  
**************  
  
After the immediate danger of Ginny emptying her stomach all over Hogsmeade's immaculate cobblestone streets had passed, Cora insisted upon escorting her back to Hogwarts. The two boys felt obliged to accompany their dates, "so nobody gets eaten by a demonic swamp creature," Jeremy joked, and everyone laughed, though Ginny consisted this a significantly more likely possibility after the events of the morning.  
  
Jeremy and the others wanted to know just what the events of the morning had been; Ginny told them, to the extent that beginning the narrative with "I went into the Shrieking Shack" and ending with "I got nauseous" while conveniently omitting the intermediate occurrences could be considered telling. She did not account for the cause of her scream, but, thankfully, they didn't mention it.  
  
They escorted her all the way up to her dormitory, where, after Ginny's adamant assurances that she'd be fine, Cora and Dan deserted her. Jeremy, however, lingered.  
  
"I haven't seen you all week," he said nonchalantly, though the fact that he was bringing it up at all suggested slightly less than ambivalent feelings on the matter.  
  
"I know. I'm sorry. I had detention."  
  
"Yeah, I know."  
  
"I'm sorry today had to end like this," Ginny said.  
  
"It's not your fault," Jeremy said.  
  
"But of all the times to get sick."  
  
"Yeah, but don't worry about it." Jeremy perked up. "Hey, but you know what this means? You'll probably feel so guilty about ruining our date that you'll be forced to make it up to me, and treat me to a date twice as good as this one."  
  
"You scheming little weasel," Ginny said. "If I didn't know better I'd say you'd gotten me sick on purpose."  
  
Jeremy grinned at her. He was still grinning when she fell asleep.  
  
***************  
  
All of the tiredness that had seized Ginny around noon on Saturday had deserted her by three a.m. the next morning. She was lying awake in bed, counting sheep, goats, chickens, ducks, and every other variety of barnyard animal she could come up with. By 5,742 mice, however, she had realized the futility of this exercise, and had gotten out of bed with the vague idea of going to the bathroom, or getting some ice water, or just wandering around until she ran into something and was knocked unconscious. It was with these particularly lucid thoughts in mind that Ginny headed down the Gryffindor dormitory's second-story third year corridor, which, truth be told, contained no bathroom, no ice water, and no obstacles over which Ginny could trip and knock herself out. She did not become aware of this until she reached the end of the corridor and was faced with a threefold choice: enter the third year girls' dormitory to her left, unleash the horror of Steve the Manic-Depressive Boggart from the broom closet to her right, or look through the window that opened onto the Quidditch pitch. As she had never held a particular fondness for third year girls or for depressed semi- Dark creatures, the window won out as the best option-Option Number Four, turning around and heading back to bed, never even crossed her mind.  
  
She could have just peered through the window and gotten back to the important business of sleeping, but early-morning madness gripped her and convinced her that gazing through glass would hardly suffice, and necessitated that she actually open the window and stick her head out like a dog in a car.  
  
Unfortunately for her, not until her head was most of the way out of the window did she remember that she was in Scotland, and it was October, and it was bloody cold outside. With a mangled "Yeow!" Ginny jerked her head back into to the castle and slammed the window shut. She paid little attention to the solitary figure on a broomstick who had watched her misfortune with interest, laughing softly as he completed an elegant, swooping dive. By the time she returned to bed, Ginny had forgotten she had seen him at all. 


	6. The Crystal Towers

Title: Crepúsculo (06)  
  
Author name: Katja  
  
Author email: katja021@yahoo.com  
  
Category: Romance  
  
Sub Category: Mystery  
  
Keywords: Ginny Draco wand  
  
Rating: R  
  
Spoilers: SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP  
  
Summary: Three appearances by Draco Malfoy, two fights, and one Quidditch practice from Hell make Ginny's Monday interesting.  
  
DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  
  
Author notes: Huge thanks to witchywoman869 for the kick in the butt that got me working on this chapter again, and to Soz, as always, for the evil and honest beta-read, and for saving Ginny from the killer mud.  
  
************  
  
Crepúsculo 6  
  
The Crystal Towers  
  
There were ways Ginny Weasley hated to be awakened, and then there was Harry Potter's face peering over hers, saying, "Time to get up, Gin, morning practice!"  
  
She dragged herself out of bed and into the locker room, clutching her broom in one hand and a large mug of coffee in the other. One of the first things she had done after Harry had become captain of the Quidditch team last year was learn to Transfigure random objects around her dormitory-- toilet paper, for instance--into strong, hot coffee.  
  
"All right, team, as I'm sure you are all too aware, the Quidditch season begins in less than two weeks, with the season opener against Ravenclaw," Harry said, "and we've been slacking off."  
  
Actually, none of the them had been aware that there was a game against Ravenclaw in less than two weeks, as Ginny could tell from her teammates' expressions, but they weren't about to tell Harry that.  
  
"We've only been practicing three times a week since the beginning of the year, which isn't nearly enough. Ravenclaw is stronger than ever before. Between Tines, Edwin, and Van Hoch at Chasers and Robyn Trailwind at Keeper, they're nearly unbeatable. Their Sweeping Hawk attack formation..."  
  
Ginny tuned him out. She didn't ever pay much attention to Harry's talks; she wasn't very good at learning by listening. She would figure out what he meant once they were out on the practice field, and until then she could catch up on some much-needed sleep.  
  
"...all right then, let's get out there and give those new ideas a try!"  
  
Ginny pulled on the last of her practice equipment. Harry opened the door onto the Quidditch pitch and was nearly pushed back into the locker room.  
  
The worst version of the dark and stormy night cliché had come to visit Hogwarts.  
  
It wasn't as cold as Ginny had expected, but this meant that rather than a snowstorm they had a combination of sleet and rain. Combined with winds strong enough to throw Harry Potter back into the locker room, this was a day during which people clearly weren't meant to go outside, let alone play Quidditch.  
  
Harry stared at the storm openmouthed like the rest of them for a few moments before regaining his composure. "Well, come on, then!" he said. "Let's get moving!" He mounted his broomstick and kicked off into the storm. The door slammed shut behind him.  
  
The rest of them gawked at the door, or perhaps prayed for their lost teammate, until Ron finally mounted his broom and hovered a few inches off the ground. "Now I understand if the rest of you don't have death wishes," he said, "but we really should make sure that that fool captain of ours doesn't get himself killed, shouldn't we? Lots of people would be very upset if he died. Especially," he stared pointedly at Colin Creevey, "his fan club."  
  
"Right then," Colin said quickly, "everyone, let's go."  
  
And so Ginny found herself pushed out of the warm, safe, dry locker room and into chaos. She barely had time to throw her broomstick beneath her before the wind caught her and carried her up.  
  
She couldn't see where she was flying, not that it mattered. The wind battered and threw her anywhere and everywhere. She had to use every bit of flexibility and fast reflexes she possessed just to avoid the airborne projectiles, nearly invisible until the very last moment in the storm. She couldn't even tell what the objects were; branches, maybe, or rocks, or small forest rodents...like ferrets. An image rose in Ginny's mind of an extremely disgruntled white ferret with Draco Malfoy's pinched face catapulting through the storm, and she snorted laughter despite the weather.  
  
Some of the flying objects she had to strike at with her Beater's bat to avoid being hit. But one of them came careening back towards her after she'd already whacked it hard away from her, with the wind. There was something familiar in the feel of her bat when it connected, too, a satisfying crack of--  
  
Oh no. Harry had let out the Bludgers.  
  
Ginny headed for the ground to see if she could find Harry and kill the boy for being such an idiot. Those Bludgers could hurt someone badly and mostly likely would, especially the other members of the team who didn't have bats or any other way to shield themselves. Ordinarily Ginny and Ron would have been able to help them, but Ginny could barely protect herself from the Bludgers in these conditions, let alone other people, and she was sure Ron was no better off.  
  
On the ground, conditions were, amazingly, even worse. She couldn't see to land and thus fell face-first into a sea of mud. She struggled to stand up. Her body felt like one big bruise. By the time she'd managed to remount her broom and kick off into the air again, however, the rain had hosed all the mud off of her. At least the storm was good for something.  
  
Maybe she'd be able to see better higher up, above the trees, where there might not be so much flying debris. She flew up—at least she thought it was up; it was the direction the rain was coming from, although, considering how hard the wind was blowing, that might not necessarily be up—and discovered that there was nothing to see there either. She was about to head back into the middle of the storm when a light caught her eye. She must have inadvertently drawn closer to the castle than she'd intended. Well, at least it would be a safe way to get back down to the ground, and she would have some reference point for how to get back into the castle. Landing on the ground in any other place would likely get her lost in the Forbidden Forest, which, she could imagine, would be far more fun than she wanted to deal with in this weather.  
  
She followed the light when she could see it through the storm. As she drew closer she realized it came an arched window. She had only ever seen that kind of window in towers. She pulled up close and touched the glass with her hand in a failed attempt to steady herself, then looked inside. Broken furniture, moldy curtains, a fire, one upright armchair...she knew this place. The North Tower. The only thing that was missing was....  
  
...getting up out of the armchair and staring right at her.  
  
Ginny nearly fell off her broom.  
  
The figure in the room had seen this, as evidenced by the smirk on his face. She couldn't actually see his face through the frosted glass, but every nuance of his posture suggested it, and since he only had two facial expressions, the smirk and the sneer, it wasn't but so much of a risk to assume that he was smirking.  
  
He waved at her, she scowled at him, and a flying branch nearly knocked her off her broom, which reminded her that she was currently more than fifty feet up in the air during of one of the worst storms she had ever seen in her life, and it was time to get back inside now.  
  
When all seven members of the Gryffindor team regrouped in the locker room, they discovered that the team had somehow managed to avoid injury entirely, with the exception of a few minor scrapes and bruises. Only Ron's diplomatic intervention saved Harry from significant damage at the hands of his teammates, however, who assured Harry that if he ever tried to get them to practice during that kind of weather again, they would personally incapacitate him for the rest of the Quidditch season, if not the rest of his life.  
  
After a careful shower in which Ginny unsuccessfully tried to avoid getting hot water on her bruises, she wandered down to breakfast. Cora was already there, munching away on some toast and sausages. Ginny piled up her plate with everything within reach, managing to shovel oatmeal and eggs on top of her fruit. She ignored the interesting combination of foods and dug in happily.  
  
The owls screeched into the Great Hall, delivering the Daily Prophet to Hermione, Quidditch Weekly to every single boy at the Gryffindor table save Dean Thomas, who buried his nose deeper in Football through the Ages, and yet another item Neville Longbottom had managed to leave at his grandmother's house over the summer. A tiny school owl delivered Ginny a letter addressed to Miss Virginia Anne Weasley in unmistakable script. The enclosed note read, Missing something? Weaponry room, now.  
  
She glanced over at the Slytherin table. A certain blonde Slytherin was conspicuously absent from their ranks.  
  
"Oh, shit," she said. Her wand. He'd taken it from her in the Shrieking Shack yesterday. She'd been so unsettled she'd forgotten all about it.  
  
"Come again?" Cora said through a mouthful of sausage.  
  
"I'll tell you later," Ginny yelled over her shoulder as she sprinted out of the Great Hall.  
  
The Weaponry Room. She knew that it was on the fifth floor, south-east corridor, that it had been used extensively by the Hogwarts fencing club back in the 1700s, and that some of the strongest anti-trespassing charms in the school guarded the room's entrance, all information courtesy of Hermione The Walking Textbook Granger.  
  
Which was why Ginny nearly fell over in shock when she tried the knob and the door opened immediately. She slipped inside and eased the door shut behind her. He must have left the door open for her, although she knew, again thanks to Hermione, that that wasn't supposed to be possible: the door was charmed to lock from the inside as soon as someone entered the room, opening only to those with a complex set of passwords. But considering what he'd done in the Shrieking Shack yesterday, she was somewhat less than surprised that he could control this piece of architecture as well.  
  
She found herself at the foot of a narrow spiral staircase, just wide enough for one person to pass. The widest part of the stairs was to her left, the smooth cylinder made by the rising steps to her right. She knew enough of sword fighting to understand what this meant: an attacker would have to hold his sword in his left hand, which was nearly always the weaker hand, while the defender would have the instant advantage of his right and stronger hand.  
  
Ginny climbed the steps as quietly as she could. It wasn't a very tall staircase, barely two complete spirals, lit with torches every few steps. It wasn't actually a tower, she knew, but was meant to serve as a practice version of one. This was only slightly reassuring.  
  
At the top was a short corridor, about the same width as the staircase. She could see a little of the room, a patch of gray wall and a hint of mirror. She froze. She didn't want to be seen entering the room if she could help it. She inched to the left side of the corridor, out of the mirror, and tiptoed forward.  
  
Her view of the room expanded as she moved. She saw what looked like a giant broken mirror. On second glance it proved to be dozens of separate mirrors positioned so close together that at first they seemed one large mirror cracked in neat, straight lines. The floor was gray stone, like nearly every other room in the castle, and the room was unusually bright, as if sunlight were glittering through a wall of windows, but the storm still roared outside. Ginny had seen it on the ceiling of the Great Hall just minutes before. She looked up and understood. The ceiling was charmed to depict a glorious morning sun, blinding both on the ceiling itself and in its reflection on the mirrors.  
  
She scanned the room until her eyes froze on a shadow on the floor, and followed the shadow to its owner. She had known it would be Draco, but seeing him still made her start. He wore black pants and a white shirt with the Slytherin S embroidered on the chest, his tie loosened slightly. It all looked regulation, but Ginny knew it wasn't. There was no way Madam Malkin's school issue uniform could fit anyone that perfectly. He had probably paid hundreds of Galleons to have clothes made for him that looked exactly like a school uniform but weren't.  
  
In his left hand he held a long, thin rapier--she hadn't realized until now that he was left-handed--and he jabbed and parried with it as though he were fighting someone who wasn't there. Or maybe he was fighting with himself. She almost snickered at that, the thought of Draco fighting another version of himself. No, she doubted that there was any way Draco could have another version of himself. She could not imagine a Draco Malfoy who wasn't egotistical, snobby, and unabashedly cruel. If there were two Dracos, they would likely kill each other in a duel over which of the two was the handsomer.  
  
It really did look like he was fighting with himself. She watched him for a few more moments and then realized that, in a way, that was exactly what he was doing. He was shadow fighting. The room was uniquely suited to this purpose. The walls ran in crooked ways. Some of the walls were mirrored, some not, and the light hit off little tilted nooks and scattered shadows everywhere, dozens of shadows, so that the shadow that was in front of Draco one moment was behind him the next, or to the side of him, or gone entirely, only to reappear as soon as he moved. Or sometimes three shadows would reappear, or five. What had initially appeared to be an exercise in stupidity Ginny now recognized as what must be an accurate recreation of magical battle, with enemies Apparating and Disapparating by the moment.  
  
Ginny shifted her gaze away from the walls and was not at all surprised to find Draco Malfoy staring at her.  
  
"I suppose you'll be wanting your wand back," he said. His voice was tired.  
  
"That's irregular."  
  
"What is?"  
  
"No insults, no taunts, not even so much as a 'Hello, Weasel, how are you'...are you ill or something?"  
  
"You know what, I'm really not in the mood to deal with you today, so, hello, Weasley, here's your wand." He held it out to her.  
  
She didn't take it. "Answer me something first: since when do you get to decide that you're not in the mood to deal with me? I'm never in the mood to deal with you, but you haven't once asked me if I'm not feeling good or if I have better things to do or if I just don't want to be in the same town as you, and, believe me, I don't. So tell me, Malfoy, what makes you think you have the right to decide when you want to deal with me?"  
  
She realized, too late, that this was not the most diplomatic speech she could have made. Malfoy's features curved into a catlike smile, the one Hermione's cat Crookshanks used when he'd cornered a mouse and was deciding whether it would taste better baked or fried.  
  
"Since when," he said slowly, "do you think that you're the one calling the shots? You're not in control here, Weasley. Don't ever forget it."  
  
She stared him down. "Why don't you just give me my wand, Malfoy, and I'll be out of your way."  
  
"Just give you your wand?" he echoed. "You didn't take it when I held it out to you. You don't get a second chance."  
  
"Give me my wand back or I'll—"  
  
"Or you'll hex me?" He laughed, and shook her wand at her. "Now, that's an effective threat, Weasley."  
  
"Listen, Malfoy, I'm sure you're supposed to be in class right now, and so am I, so why don't you just give me my wand back and we'll go our separate ways and save both of our Houses a lot of points by not being late."  
  
"Hmm, let's see, what do I have first today...ah, Herbology. Let me think about it for a moment." He looked over Ginny's head, then stared straight into her eyes. "No."  
  
Ginny abandoned diplomacy. "Damn it, Malfoy, just give me my wand back!"  
  
"You aren't very good at bargaining, you know."  
  
"There's nothing to bargain on. You give me my wand back, I leave, everyone lives happily ever after."  
  
"That's not the way these things work, Weasley."  
  
She hated his calmness. "I could kill you right now," she told him.  
  
This declaration didn't even faze him. Not just that, but his eyes actually lit up at her words. "Could you," he said. "Now, there's an idea." Her wand disappeared into his pants as he took a step away from her. He swooshed his rapier through a few parries and said casually, "Weasley, what do you know of sword fighting?"  
  
Her stomach dropped but she held his gaze. "More than you'd like to think." She'd read a book on it once, when she was about seven years old. The fact that it had contained more pictures than words wasn't going to help.  
  
He raised a disbelieving eyebrow but said, "All right, then. I'll be happy to give you your wand back...if you can beat me in a swordfight."  
  
She didn't have a rabbit's chance in a cage full of werewolves, but she couldn't back down now. Who knew when she would have another chance to get her wand back before he used it as a nine-and-a-quarter-inch long piece of ebony firewood? "Fine. But we have to shake on it."  
  
He nodded, said, "Fair enough," and proffered his right hand. Shaking hands was originally a way to make sure that one's enemy wasn't going to draw his sword while they were drawing up the terms for the battle or duel: it prevented the use of the sword hand. But not all swordsmen were right- handed, and left-handed knights could certainly cause trouble. She watched his left hand out of the bottom of her eyes as they shook on the deal. It remained limp by his side. She wasn't fooled into thinking he was right- handed; she'd seen his skill with it earlier. She didn't mention it, though. She was going to need every advantage she could get.  
  
He withdrew his hand and examined the rapiers on the wall. He selected one and tossed it towards her, handle-first. Not for nothing had she been the replacement Seeker when Harry was banned from Quidditch during her fourth year, however. She caught it and swung it a few times, testing it out.  
  
She could tell from his expression that in catching the rapier she'd passed the first test. As for the rest of the fight, she wasn't so certain. Maybe if she thought of the sword as a longer, lighter Beater's bat her stomach would stop flipping.  
  
Malfoy grinned. "Shall we?" He held up his sword—in his left hand.  
  
They faced each other, circled for a few moments that felt like forever until Ginny couldn't stand it anymore and attacked. Thrust, parry, block—it fell into a rhythm so easily that she knew he wasn't really trying. And then, suddenly, he was. He forced her to retreat until her back was against the wall and she tried hard to fend him off but she had no idea what she was doing and they both knew it. She jabbed but pulled back too slowly and he stabbed her arm—not as hard as he could have, but enough to remind her that she was the one with her back against the wall for a reason.  
  
He smirked at the blood seeping through her uniform blouse, and she seized her chance. She slipped out to the left, his right, where there was no sword to stop her, trying to poke him in the back as she escaped. He was too quick. He stopped her stroke with his rapier and the fight continued.  
  
She was losing ground rapidly, heading towards another wall, and she couldn't think of what she could do to stop him.  
  
But maybe she didn't need to.  
  
The entrance to the room was behind her and to her right. If she could angle her retreat down the corridor and onto the spiral staircase, he would have to attack with his right hand, she with her left. She had a strong enough left hand, even preferred it when fist-fighting her brothers, and it wasn't particularly less skillful in sword fighting than her right hand, which had a mere five minutes more experience.  
  
Ginny gradually angled herself towards the entrance. She didn't need to pretend to retreat; Malfoy was forcing her to do that without any of her assistance. She even feigned movements to the sides as if she were trying to escape, but he had seen her do that once and wasn't about to let her do it again. He thrust and she retreated all the way down the narrow hallway to the top of the stairs, even down three of the stairs. Still he followed her.  
  
She switched her sword to her left hand and charged at him, reckless with success. Too late she saw him switch his own sword to his right and block her blow, holding her sword against his. He grabbed her shirt beneath the neck and pulled her so close that she could see little flecks of pale blue in his gray eyes. She could feel his breath on her face. "Did you really think," he murmured, "that I couldn't fight with my right hand?" He slid his sword along hers. It sounded like the sharpening of a knife.  
  
Her eyes widened. She could already see herself pushed down the stairs and out the door, bleeding and sore. She could see the little envelope full of ashes and a single splinter of ebony wood, with the note Figured I'd leave you a souvenir. And then she had an idea.  
  
She dropped her sword, which surprised him and threw him off balance, and dove at his stomach, knocking his legs out from under him. They tumbled down the stairs, Malfoy's arm whacking against the wall as they fell down the two spirals and losing his sword, Ginny hitting her head against a step but not hard enough to bleed. They fell into a sprawling mess at the bottom, but Ginny didn't waste any time. She pulled her leg out from under Malfoy and straddled him, one-two punching him in the face before he'd even realized they were off the stairs. He caught on quickly, though, and flipped her on her back. She hadn't realized he was strong enough to pick her up and throw her down beside him, but anger did strange things to people. He jumped on top of her hard enough to knock the wind out of her.  
  
It was understandable that, in her oxygen-deprived state, it took her a few moments to realize that he wasn't moving off of her. Instead he laid full on top of her, his weight pressing her into the floor. She wondered if he were trying to smother her.  
  
She wasn't sure which of them initiated the kiss. Her eyes were closed. She felt the hot breath on her face and then her mouth was open and she was kissing him, and it was just another swordfight, more of the same thrusting and jabbing, but the tip of his tongue didn't make her bleed but rather made her stomach flip from nerves and his closeness and the way his tongue coiled around hers like a snake. His hands were playing with her ears, her cheek, her hair. Everywhere his fingers touched, burned. She wrapped her hands around his back and pulled him against her, and he complied.  
  
That was when she felt it pressing against her thigh. She slithered her hand down his side and between them, tinkered with his belt buckle. He shifted off of her and over to the side to give her better access. She pressed herself flush against him except at the waist. In a few seconds she managed to one-handedly remove the belt and unbutton his pants. She reached in. There it was, long and hard, exactly as she'd imagined it would be.  
  
She ran her fingers along its length, then pulled it out and whispered against his mouth, "I'll see you later, Draco," and sauntered away with her wand.  
  
************  
  
Ginny spent most of first bell congratulating herself on how well she'd handled the encounter with Malfoy that morning. She'd bested him in a swordfight, in his element, and even managed to get her wand back without having to finish the fight. Cora noticed her grinning uncontrollably at the beginning of Charms, but it was, thankfully, a class they shared with the Ravenclaws, so Jeremy kept Cora joking and giggling most of the bell, leaving Ginny to her own thoughts.  
  
She was sure that Jeremy knew something was off with her, since she didn't ordinarily ignore him during Charms class. But it wasn't so much that she was ignoring him as that she needed a little time to herself, without Cora's questions, and she was grateful that he could provide that for her, especially because she really couldn't answer Cora's questions about this particular Malfoy encounter.  
  
She thought about that for a second. It wasn't just this incident that she hadn't told Cora about. She hadn't mentioned anything out of the ordinary about Malfoy since the beginning of the school year, and in the past two months there had certainly been plenty of abnormal Malfoy encounters. She didn't ordinarily keep huge secrets from Cora.  
  
But she hadn't thought of it as a secret, and really it wasn't one. There was nothing abnormal about Malfoy going out of his way to make her life miserable; it was a Malfoy-Weasley tradition, dating back to the year 927 when Francis Weasley killed Thomas Malfoy's favorite pet deer. Never mind that the pet deer wasn't marked as a Malfoy deer, and it had wandered fifty miles away from the Malfoy castle grounds onto Weasley territory, which made killing it clearly legal under every written and unwritten law in the land; Thomas Malfoy had considered it a personal insult and had declared war on the Weasleys, a war which, over a thousand years later, still hadn't come close to ending. Malfoys and Weasleys of every generation since then had done their best to ruin each other's lives; if Draco Malfoy was particularly overzealous in his efforts, her ancestors would understand, and his would approve.  
  
The feud had always been out in the open, though, so why Ginny hadn't told Cora was a mystery. She didn't really understand herself what had kept her from talking about it. She couldn't tell Cora now; there was too much involved that she hadn't told Cora, and it would hurt Cora worse to tell her all that Ginny had been keeping from her for so long than just to keep it to herself as she had been doing. But as to what had kept her from telling Cora in the very beginning, she did not know. She hadn't even mentioned the Malfoy incident on the train to Cora.  
  
Jeremy was a different matter. It wasn't that Ginny had told him more than she had told Cora—she had mentioned Malfoy to neither of them—but that Jeremy was by nature more perceptive than Cora. Not only that, he was Ginny's boyfriend, a status that made him watch her doubly as carefully as usual. He wasn't spying on her, but he could observe her actions and understand what they meant, and he wasn't as easily distracted as Cora.  
  
The only thing for it was to avoid him. Not forever, just until she figured out how to hide her emotions from him a little better. It wasn't lost on her that, as his girlfriend, she was supposed to be honest with him. That was the definition of trust, wasn't it, and what was a relationship without trust? But he was going to have to trust her in that there were parts of her life that did not concern him, and that she had to deal with on her own, without his interference. Malfoy was one such part of her life.  
  
Ginny started at that. Malfoy was a part of her life. She hadn't ever thought of him that way, but as soon as she thought it she knew it was true. He'd weaseled, or rather ferreted, his way into her life so thoroughly that she hadn't even realized he was part of it. She no longer noticed his presence but rather his absence. When that change had taken place, she had no idea, and it scared her more than she would admit.  
  
Ginny paid not a bit of attention to her classes all day. Jeremy covered for her without even asking why—she knew there was a reason she'd been friends with him for so long—and Cora, thankfully, managed to be mostly oblivious to her distraction. She would have to thank Jeremy later, but not until she'd created a believable cover for her problems and figured out how to better hide herself from him.  
  
But she would not know how to hide herself from Jeremy until she knew exactly what she needed to hide. Malfoy, she knew that much, but she didn't know what that name meant anymore. The mention of that name brought out more emotions in her than she would have thought possible. The hatred had not diminished any, certainly not, but she no longer felt the pure red hatred she was used to. There were other problems to deal with, other feelings. None of them happy, none of them easily explainable, all of them strong but not easily definable.  
  
She needed to define them, though; she could not hide what she did not understand, and the only way to understand was to see Malfoy again. She didn't know if she wanted this or feared it.  
  
*************  
  
After dinner Ginny snuck out of the Common Room, telling Cora she was going to the library to work on a Potions essay. If she had a brain in her skull that was exactly what she would be doing: the essay was due the day after tomorrow, and she hadn't even begun to research it. She told herself that after she talked to Malfoy she would work on it. She pretended to believe it.  
  
She headed towards the North Tower by way of the library, so that anyone who saw her could say that they had seen her walking towards the library. She didn't need anyone wondering where she was going tonight.  
  
She reached the entrance of the North Tower too soon. Forever would have been too soon. But if she turned back now she would not come again, and that would be worse than not coming at all.  
  
She had to delineate Malfoy's presence in her life so that she would know how to keep him out of the rest of it, she told herself, and it sounded good all the way up the stairs, past the portraits, and even into the tower, but as soon as she caught sight of Draco Malfoy's shadow in the firelight she forgot everything but the way he'd slithered his tongue around hers, the way he'd arched his body around hers. Her face burned. She struggled to maintain composure as she hunted for an opening line.  
  
"Malfoy," she said. That was creative. At least she hadn't managed to mispronounce his name.  
  
He didn't turn around.  
  
"Malfoy," she repeated a little louder. "Malfoy."  
  
He turned. "I assure you, Weasley, that I heard you the first time, and that if I wished to speak with you I would have."  
  
Not the response she'd expected—although what she expected him to say in response to his name, she couldn't have said—but it gave her something to work with, which was more than she'd brought with her. With all the time she'd spent worrying about talking to Malfoy, she would have thought she'd have spent at least a few minutes preparing for the talk itself, but no, apparently not. Insults, however, she could ad lib. "Didn't your mother ever teach you that it's rude to ignore people?"  
  
"Didn't your mother ever teach you that rude only applies to barnyard animals, a group with which I'm sure she's had plenty of experience?"  
  
Ginny wasn't entirely sure that his logic made sense, but his insinuation came across clearly enough. "Are you trying to say that my mother grew up on a farm?"  
  
"No. I'm saying that your mother is a fat cow." He grinned, and Ginny's vision blurred red. She forgot everything she knew about how he so often turned her attacks against her. All she knew was that she wanted to pound him into the floor so hard that it took the house elves a week to clean up his remains.  
  
He caught her around the waist before she even finished winding up her punch. "You have the fastest, most predictable temper I've ever seen," he told her. "You always let your anger boil over. You need to learn to let it simmer."  
  
She wasn't particularly interested in discussing anger management, so she latched onto the metaphor. "What do you know about cooking?" she wondered.  
  
"Enough." At her incredulous stare he added, "There are certain Malfoy family dishes that we have never allowed the house elves to touch."  
  
"What, filet of Muggle?"  
  
She couldn't tell if his laugh was one of amusement or of affirmation. "Charming, Weasley," he said as he released her. She'd been so surprised by the culinary turn of the conversation that she hadn't even realized he was still holding her until he let go. She flushed. "You make such charming comments."  
  
"I'm glad you think so."  
  
"Wonderful. However, much as I've enjoyed your company, I'd really like to return to my Arithmancy homework right now, if you'd excuse me...?" He gestured at the expanse of Arithmancy texts and papers that coated the floor nearly wall to wall. She'd treaded on a few of the sheets and was currently standing on a page labeled "Trigonomanthic Theory of Time," from which she gingerly removed her foot.  
  
"All this is your homework?"  
  
"If you open your mouth a little wider, Weasley, I'll bet you could swallow an owl. Yes, it's my homework, and I've been working on it for a very long time, so I'd appreciate it if you'd leave before you destroy any more of it than you already have."  
  
"I didn't realize you did homework." Now that was an intelligent comment.  
  
"Contrary to popular belief, the average Slytherin actually can read and write, and even do spells every once in a while."  
  
"That isn't what I meant." He stared at her. "I thought homework was beneath you or something. You know, pureblood pride and all that?"  
  
"Just because I'm rich, pureblooded, and a Prefect doesn't mean I don't have to work, Weasley. Or did you think I paid the house elves to do my homework for me?"  
  
"Something like that, yes," Ginny said.  
  
"While I could certainly afford it if I wanted to, I have never paid a house elf to do my work for me."  
  
It was rather late in the game for Malfoy to be developing morals, Ginny thought, and something about S.P.E.W. and house elves not accepting any money for their work was tickling at the back of her mind, but she couldn't quite catch it. It wasn't important, anyway. She was looking at the corner of his mouth: slightly curved up in an easy smirk. He only ever smirked or sneered, but he had different degrees of each. Like the "I-insulted-Potter- and-he's-too-stupid-to-realize-it" smirk. And the "I-beat-Granger-on-a- Transfiguration-test" smirk. And the "I-know-something-you-don't-know" smirk, the one that had made Ginny physically ill at the Opening Feast.  
  
He was using a variation of that smirk on her now, but it wasn't making her sick so much as nervous. Her pulse sped up so much that she wondered if she was having a panic attack. And it wasn't just the smirk that was making her nervous. He was standing far too near her. She closed her eyes but couldn't hide from his face; it was imprinted on the inside of her eyelids. She imagined she could feel his breath on her face, and when she opened her eyes she realized that she really could. He was less than half a foot away from her and staring into her eyes.  
  
"You aren't here to talk about my homework," he observed. "So, Ginny"—the way her name rolled off his tongue ought to be illegal—"what are you here for?"  
  
She opened her mouth to say something, anything, moo like a cow. It didn't matter what, any noise that wasn't his voice making her pulse splutter, but she couldn't even manage a squeak.  
  
He traced the curve of her jaw with his finger and she almost died. He watched her throat as she swallowed. "Really, I'm curious"—his eyes flicked up to hers—"Ginny"—she swallowed again—"about what you're doing here." His fingertips reached her lips.  
  
She kissed them. She couldn't help herself. He smirked again, an "I-knew- it" smirk, and she didn't even care. She brushed his hand off her mouth and kissed him on his smirking mouth, ran her hands through his hair. She was sure that he'd comment on that later: "You destroyed forty-five minutes of quality hair styling!" or something to that effect.  
  
At first he stood there and let her kiss him, and panic flooded through her. It was all just another trick, and she'd been stupid enough to believe it. In a minute he was going to pull away and let loose an enormous "have-I- ever-got-a-lot-of-blackmail-material-on-you" smirk, and he'd return to making her life miserable in more conventional ways.  
  
She was horrified to find that she much preferred his more recent tortures to pulling of pigtails and taunting about her crush on Harry Potter.  
  
But no. She could deal with this latest torture being just that. What had made her think it was anything different anyway?  
  
The fact that just then his tongue slammed into her mouth and he pressed himself hard against her might have had something to do with it. She lost her breath and never got it back. She thought of nothing but his hands on her hips, his lips on hers, his hair tickling her forehead.  
  
Even after she left she could see nothing but him. She did not notice Cora pull up from a steaming make out session on a Common Room couch to try to catch her attention as she headed up the dormitory steps. She did not pay attention to the necklace she still wore around her neck dangling down on a silver chain. It glowed icy gray just before she fell asleep.  
  
************  
  
Thanks to all reviewers and readers. 


	7. Scylla and Charybdis

**Crepúsculo**

**Chapter Seven:**

**Scylla and Charybdis**

She had kissed Malfoy. She had kissed Draco Malfoy purposefully and willingly. That would have been bad enough, but she'd _liked_ kissing him. There were so many things wrong with this that she didn't even know where to start thinking about it.

There was a perfectly viable explanation for why she'd kissed him in the weaponry room yesterday morning. She'd been trying to distract him while she recovered her wand, and it had worked, hadn't it? He'd been so busy trying to ram his tongue down her throat that it had never occurred to him that what she was looking for in his pants was her wand.

But going to him in the tower last night? She couldn't think of a single explanation for it other than temporary insanity. She'd completely lost her mind. What part of going to the tower—going looking for Malfoy—had seemed like a good idea, she didn't know. And once she got there, she hadn't been able to control herself at all.

She simply couldn't wrap her mind around why she'd done it. She knew it wasn't that she was possessed because she knew perfectly well what she'd done. It was more that she'd known exactly what she was about to do and been unable to prevent herself from doing it, no matter how bad of an idea taunting Malfoy and kissing Malfoy had been, because some deep and clearly self-destructive part of her didn't _want_ to prevent it. This small, mutinous part of her wanted to taunt and fight and kiss Malfoy. Scarier: this part of her actually wanted Malfoy.

Ginny Weasley had had some bad ideas before, and she'd done some pretty stupid things, but wanting Draco Malfoy any way other than dead came close to topping off the list. There was absolutely nothing good about Malfoy. He was pale and pointy and blond. He hated Gryffindors, Muggleborns, and especially Weasleys. His father was a Death Eater and he showed every sign of becoming the same.

And yet she wanted him. Insanity was the only explanation, because if she were sane she would have killed herself before considering, even for an instant, the possibility that she wanted Draco Malfoy.

When she'd woken up this morning, she'd hoped that all of it was a dream: that she'd wake up and find out that she hadn't gone to the weaponry room yet, that she didn't have her wand. There had been no swordfighting and certainly no kissing and her life would return to being normal and predictable, which was exactly what she wanted. Draco Malfoy was so far from what she wanted that they didn't even belong in the same country.

It had been stupid of her; of course it had been no dream. Her wand had been on the nightstand when she woke up, which she might have been able to ignore, had Draco Malfoy not ambushed her on the way to breakfast, pulled her into one of those seemingly ubiquitous hallway alcoves, and shoved his tongue down her throat.

"What the fuck are—" Ginny tried when he finally pulled away, but as it turned out Draco had only wanted to take a breath. He shut her up rather effectively mid-sentence, and the moan that escaped her a few seconds later was hardly going to help her prove that she was an unwilling participant in the events of the morning. It really wasn't fair of him to grab her this early. She hadn't come anywhere close to a pot of coffee yet, and it was commonly known that she couldn't be held responsible for anything she did before she got at least three cups of coffee in her system.

She was nursing her fifth cup of coffee in the Great Hall right now. She was lucky she'd left Gryffindor Tower early this morning; otherwise Draco Bloody Malfoy might have made her miss breakfast. She was going to be late for Transfiguration as it was, but she wasn't about to leave the Great Hall before she finished this cup of coffee and possibly another. It was entirely Draco Malfoy's fault that she needed all this coffee, and he was the one who'd made her late for breakfast, so really wasn't it his fault that she was going to be late for Transfiguration? Clearly, yes.

Cora bounded up beside her just then. "Hey Ginny, we've got to go to McGonagall's class."

Ginny eyed the remaining half-inch of coffee in the bottom of her mug. She was definitely going to need another cup of coffee. She threw back what remained of Cup Number Five and reached for the carafe. She poured Cup Number Six and held the mug to her face, inhaling the aroma of hot caffeine. Coffee was _amazing._ So was the mug that held the coffee, and the carafe that had held the coffee, and the Heating Charms that warmed the carafe, and the house elves that _made_ the—

"Ginny," Cora said, "how much coffee have you had?"

"Not nearly enough."

"Really."

"It's okay," Ginny said, taking a long and blissful gulp. "I'm nervous. It's calming."

"Coffee's not calming, Ginny," Jeremy said, appearing out of nowhere. "It's a stimulant. That's why you drink it to wake up."

"It's calming," Ginny snapped. She considered for a moment and added, "Wiseass," for good measure.

"You're delusional," Cora said clearly.

"What are you nervous about anyway?" Jeremy asked.

"I'm not nervous," Ginny said. "You're _making_ me nervous, hovering over me like this." She was perfectly aware that this didn't actually make a bit of sense, but she was hoping that Cora and Jeremy hadn't been watching her coffee intake so she could pretend that this was Cup Number Three rather than Six and claim her usual pre-caffeine insanity.

"Hey, Ginny?" Cora said. "Sorry to make you more nervous, but Transfiguration started three minutes ago."

"Shit," Ginny said. She downed the rest of Cup Number Six and sprinted after Cora and Jeremy.

-----

Sadly, it turned out that Jeremy was right about the coffee: Ginny was anything but calm during Transfiguration. She was so jittery she couldn't pay a bit of attention to McGonagall's lecture. Maybe she did need to cut back on her caffeine consumption…

But no. This jitteriness had nothing to do with the coffee. Well, the coffee might have had something to do with it, but the main culprit was clearly Draco Malfoy.

She seemed to be blaming him for most everything this morning, but really, why shouldn't she? He and his family had been behind pretty much every bad thing that had ever happened to her, and she was perfectly justified in blaming him for everything that had happened to her so far today. It was, for instance, entirely his fault that she'd kissed him this morning. And last night. And every other time.

Kissing wasn't a solo activity, though, and while she could claim reluctance or some other legitimate motive for most of their previous encounters, she couldn't pretend that what had happened last night and this morning had been anything other than perfectly mutual. She was good at misconstruing the truth; it had long been one of her greatest skills, at least since she'd arrived at Hogwarts (as a child she'd been convinced that it was impossible to lie to her mother), but there was no use pretending that the truth was anything other than what it was: she wanted Draco Malfoy. She could claim that it had been temporary insanity last night and pre-coffee lack of judgment this morning, but now she was in Transfiguration with six cups of coffee in her system; it didn't get much more rational than this, and yet she still wanted him.

She could say he'd cursed her; she was under the influence of Love Spell; she was using him in an effort to beat him at his own game, whatever that game might be. She could say any of those things, but that wouldn't change the fundamental problem: she wanted Draco Malfoy. She wanted him and as far as she could tell he wanted her, and this was amazing and awful in too many ways to consider.

Suddenly someone—it must have been Jeremy—jabbed her hard in the side. Ginny looked up quickly and realized that McGonagall was staring right at her. "Um, could you repeat the question?" Ginny said lamely.

"I asked, Miss Weasley, if you could tell me the most common mistake students make when attempting to transfigure magical creatures into non-magical creatures?"

Ginny hadn't a clue. Next to her Jeremy was hissing something under his breath, but Ginny didn't want McGonagall to catch him helping her so she fielded a guess. "They forget to remove the magic?"

"Actually, yes." McGonagall looked as surprised as Ginny felt. "Demagification is the technical term for it, but Miss Weasley is correct. Most non-magical creatures are not equipped for the inherent magic found in…"

When McGonagall was far enough into her lecture that she wouldn't notice, Jeremy whispered, "Nice recovery."

"Lucky guess."

"It made sense, though." He might have said more, but McGonagall was looking in their direction and she wasn't deaf, either. Jeremy fell silent.

Ginny managed to take notes for a few minutes but then her attention wandered again. She had been lucky that Jeremy was there to keep McGonagall from catching her daydreaming. It was just so hard to concentrate during McGonagall's lectures, especially lately. McGonagall wasn't a particularly boring teacher—she certainly had nothing on Professor Binns when it came to putting students to sleep—but it was just so hard to keep her mind on Transfiguration. She knew it was O.W.L. year (how could she forget, when Hermione had already posted her study schedule from last year on the common room board? According to this schedule Ginny was already three weeks behind on her studies, despite the fact that it wasn't yet November and the exams were in June.) but how Jeremy could manage to pay attention during McGonagall's class, she didn't know…

_Jeremy._ With all the thinking she'd been doing about Malfoy, she'd completely forgotten about Jeremy. Specifically, she had forgotten that Jeremy was her boyfriend. Wanting Draco Malfoy would have been plenty big enough of a problem on its own, but the fact that she was already dating Jeremy was going to complicate things, to put it mildly. If he found out there way anything other than enmity between her and Draco Malfoy—

But he hadn't found out yet, had he? The whole mess with Draco and her current relationship with Jeremy had started pretty much simultaneously, and in the nearly two months since then Jeremy hadn't noticed a thing.

Rather, Jeremy hadn't mentioned a thing. There was a difference. Jeremy knew her better than almost anyone, probably better even than Cora, but there was much that Ginny did not share with him and she had to assume that he did not tell her everything, either.

If he knew about her and Draco, though, he wouldn't be able to hide it from her. Jeremy was overprotective of her, more so than ever since they'd started dating again. He wouldn't come to her and ask her what was going on; he would go to Draco and curse him into oblivion first and ask questions later. No matter what Draco tried to say, he'd assume Draco was lying.

She was going to have to make sure Jeremy never learned about Draco, that was all. It shouldn't be too difficult. After all, hadn't she been doing it for two months already?

-----

Draco grabbed her again just before dinner and pulled her into Classroom Eight, one of the unused ground floor rooms. He shut the door with one hand while he snaked the other around her wait and slid his tongue inside her mouth. This was the part, she knew, where she was supposed to protest. Always before she'd known when to tell him to stop, and while he hadn't necessarily listened to her, at least she'd said something. At least she'd had the thin excuse that she had, in fact, protested, even if she was doing it for the excuse alone.

But why protest? What reason was there for her to fight against this, when Draco's tongue in her mouth and his slim, hard body against hers was exactly what she wanted? There were many reasons, actually, that giving in was a horrible idea, but the lone reason for it was good enough to trump them all: she was going to do it anyway, no matter what. She was strong, yes, but not strong enough to fight herself and Draco both. This was a battle she would not be unhappy to lose, which made resisting the inevitable nearly impossible.

She curled her tongue around Draco's and pressed against him. She'd done this before, of course. She'd done it without meaning to and she'd done it when she did, but always she had done it against her will or with some motive other than merely wanting this. Not so now.

Draco smiled against her mouth, and she couldn't help smiling back. She knew what she was doing. She knew, too, that she could not escape this. She did not want to.

-----

Ginny didn't go to dinner. She and Draco didn't stay in Classroom Eight too long; dinner wasn't even half over when they left. She could have used some dinner, too, since she'd forgone food in favor of lots of coffee that morning and her stomach was unhappy about being a meal behind, but there were more important things to consider at the moment, and they were named Jeremy Hayden.

She was going to have to break up with him. She didn't like the idea of doing it, but it needed to be done. She'd been able to date Jeremy and deal with Draco all this time because she'd convinced herself that what she was doing with Draco wasn't anything, really, that it didn't matter. Not so anymore. She didn't know when the balance had shifted. Maybe it hadn't shifted. Maybe it had been like this all along and she'd been deluding herself until just now.

Whatever the reason, she couldn't do this anymore. She'd made her decision, or maybe it had been made for her; it didn't matter which. Either way it had been made and either way she had to break up with Jeremy. Completely aside from the fact that she'd been dating him for two months, he'd been one of her best friends since third year. She might have been able to string along a random boyfriend—Michael Corner came instantly to mind—but she couldn't, wouldn't do it to one of her best friends. He'd be devastated, and she knew perfectly well that their friendship might never recover, but she had to do it.

She had to do it, and she had to do it now, before she actually thought it through and realized what it would mean. She consulted the clock in Classroom Nine (she'd ducked in here after Draco had left to go to dinner). Jeremy should be leaving the Great Hall sometime in the next fifteen minutes. She headed to the exit marked by the statue of Bathsheba the Birdbrained and waited. Sure enough, Jeremy and a few other Ravenclaw sixth years walked out five minutes later.

"Hey Ginny," Jeremy said, clearly surprised to see her. "I was wondering where you were at dinner—Cora said she hadn't seen you since Charms."

"I didn't feel so good," Ginny said. It wasn't precisely a lie, although the jitters in her stomach had had a lot to do with the positioning of Draco Malfoy's hands and exceedingly little to do with any actual sickness. "I'm fine now, though," she added. "Listen, Jeremy, I need to talk to you."

"Go for it."

"Can we maybe go somewhere else?" She gestured vaguely at the hallway.

Jeremy nodded. "My room?"

She really didn't want to do this in Jeremy's room. She didn't particularly want to do it at all, but since it couldn't be avoided she wanted to go somewhere neutral. Common sense told her that no matter how he took the news (and she didn't know how that was going to be; she'd never broken up with him when the breakup was anything other than completely mutual, let alone when it seemed to be coming out of nowhere) breaking up with him in his dormitory was a horrible idea. You could never be certain that no one was listening to your conversations in the dormitories, no matter how careful you were.

"Maybe somewhere else?"

Jeremy nodded. She knew he was just as aware of the drawbacks of dormitory conversations as she was. "I'll catch up with you guys later," he told the Ravenclaws who'd been waiting for him. They winked and left, all of them undoubtedly convinced that when Ginny said she wanted to talk to Jeremy she really meant she wanted to snog him senseless. That should have been the truth.

"Where to?" Jeremy said.

"One of the empty classrooms, maybe," Ginny said. She headed back towards Classroom Eight, but found Peeves inside, gleefully redecorating the walls with a can of lime-green paint and his favorite swear words. Maybe not. She and Jeremy both knew from experience that where Peeves was, Filch was sure to be close behind, so they vacated the area as quickly as possible. Not quickly enough, though.

"I hear him, Mrs. Norris. Peeves is around here somewhere, and when we find him…" Filch's voice was coming from just around the corner.

"Quick," Ginny hissed, opening the first door she saw. She and Jeremy dove inside just in time to avoid being seen by Filch. They hadn't actually done anything against the rules, but that wouldn't matter to Filch; being anywhere near the classroom Peeves was vandalizing would be more than enough to prove their guilt. What exactly they were guilty of, Filch would neither know nor care.

Ginny peeked around the doorway to make sure Filch and Mrs. Norris were gone (the growl of "PEEVES!" a few seconds later confirmed this) and only then did she and Jeremy exhale.

"We should probably get away while we still can," Ginny said.

Jeremy looked around the room. "You wanted to talk somewhere away from the dormitory, didn't you?"

Ginny followed his gaze. The classroom was certainly deserted enough. "We don't want Filch to catch us, though, either."

Jeremy locked the door. "As long as we're quiet, we'll be fine." He sat on one of the dusty desks. "So what did you want to talk to me about?"

Ginny swallowed. "Us, actually."

"Us," Jeremy repeated. "What about us?" He looked at her expectantly.

She swallowed again. "Yeah. About us…"

"Yeah?"

She met his gaze. Oh no. He was giving her the big puppy-dog-eyed look. He probably didn't even realize he was doing it. Every time she called him on the puppy dog look he claimed he didn't have one, and she was fairly certain he thought he was telling the truth. Green-eyed seventeen-year-old boys weren't supposed to be able to look like puppies, but Jeremy Hayden could do it just the same.

_Forget the puppy dog look,_ Ginny told herself sternly. _Ignore the fact that he looks exactly like some sort of eager, floppy-eared retriever and when you tell him you're breaking up with him he's going to look like you've_ kicked him in the stomach.

"Listen," she said, even though she knew perfectly well he was already listening, "we've been dating for nearly two months now."

"Yeah," Jeremy agreed.

"And I know that's kind of a long time."

"Yeah."

She had absolutely no idea where she was going with this. _You have to break up with him,_ she told herself sternly. _You can't string him along like this. Michael Corner would have deserved it, but Jeremy doesn't. Don't even think about not breaking up with him._

He was going to look like the saddest, most abandoned puppy in the _entire world._ But she still had to do it.

"And this might kind of seem like it's coming out of nowhere," she began. _But I think we should break up_. No, that wasn't decisive enough. _But I'm breaking up with you,_ maybe? _But I have to break up with you?_ All of these were going to lead to the same unanswerable question: Why? Why would she suddenly end a seemingly flawless relationship with a cute boy who was also one of her best friends? The relationship didn't just seem flawless; it really _was_ flawless. Except for the slight problem that Ginny was currently involved with someone else.

Technically, though, she'd been involved with Draco first. He'd attacked her on the Hogwarts Express before Jeremy had kissed her, hadn't he? This, of course, was bullshit, and she knew it.

"This might come out of nowhere," Ginny said again, stalling for time.

"You're repeating yourself."

"I know."

Jeremy smiled.

_No_, Ginny thought, _don't smile. Your smile is infectious and if I started smiling I'll never go through with this._

She needed to think, that was the thing. She needed time to think of a way to break up with him that wouldn't make him ask questions. Why had breaking up with him immediately seemed so important?

Jeremy was starting to stare at her. "You okay, Ginny?"

"Yeah, I—" _I what?_ She panicked and blurted out the first thing that came to mind: "I was wondering if you wanted to come home with me for the holidays."

"What?" Jeremy said.

Ginny was thinking the same thing, but instead of doing anything logical she started talking. "I was just thinking that if you wanted to come back to the Burrow it might be kind of fun, since the Burrow's a lot of fun during the holidays, and my mum always loves having more people around since she had so many kids and now that we're gone so much she feels like she needs to have more people during the holidays and the more the merrier and—"

Jeremy stared at her for a long moment. "You want me to come to the Burrow over the holidays?"

"Well, if you don't want to, that's perfectly fine, too, of course," Ginny said. "I wouldn't want to take away from your time to be with your family, because Christmas is really a family sort of time, you know, and this is probably the last thing you want to do, since it's always so crazy around the Burrow, and I wouldn't blame you at all if—"

"Ginny."

"Yeah?"

"I'd love to."

"Really? Because I completely understand if you'd rather be by yourself. I would really rather be by myself sometimes during the holidays. It gets so crazy with all those people around and…" She was aware that she was babbling but she couldn't stop because if she did she'd have to think about what she was supposed to be doing. Fuck. Shit. Fuck. She'd chickened out so thoroughly that not only hadn't she broken up with him, she'd gotten herself into spending more time with him, and she was digging herself deeper into this mess with every word but she just couldn't seem to stop.

"Ginny?" Jeremy said. "Shut up."

"Right." An embarrassingly high-pitched giggle escaped from her mouth. She was going to have to kill herself before all this was over, she really was. "Shutting up now."

Jeremy kissed her, probably because he doubted she'd actually stop talking. It was a damned good kiss, too. Fuck.

Maybe this was okay, though. He hadn't asked any unanswerable questions, had he? And it wasn't like tonight was the only chance she was ever going to have to break up with him. She could do it later, easily. She needed time to figure out what she was going to say when she broke up with him, anyway. This was giving her that time, wasn't it? So really she was doing herself a favor.

Deep down she knew there wasn't going to be any way she could break up with Jeremy that wouldn't lead to unanswerable questions, because she knew perfectly well that if she didn't mention Draco she didn't have a single reason to break up with Jeremy. He loved her; she liked him a lot. She was attracted to him. He made her laugh. They almost never fought. Jeremy was everything she'd ever wanted out of a boyfriend, wasn't he?

And yet there was that lurch in the pit of her stomach when she thought of Draco. It felt like traveling by Portkey, and she'd never felt anything like it around any boy but Draco. She didn't feel it with Jeremy. This was why she had to break up with Jeremy, because she couldn't ignore that feeling.

Actually…it was why she had to continue to see Draco. Breaking up with Jeremy didn't actually have anything to do with it. Breaking up with Jeremy was the right thing to do, but it wasn't exactly necessary, was it? Draco knew she was dating Jeremy. He knew and it didn't seem to bother him. Jeremy didn't know about Draco, but even if she weren't dating him she most likely wouldn't have told him what was going on with her and Draco. It was the sort of thing that was meant to be kept secret, even from her best friends. The fact that she _was_ dating Jeremy complicated things, but what she was doing with Draco didn't exactly affect him, did it?

Looking at it all from a completely different angle: would it really be better for Jeremy if she told him the truth? _Hi, Jeremy, I've been two-timing you with my worst enemy. He's not exactly your favorite person, either. Hope you don't mind!_

Even if she were vague about why she was breaking up with him, Jeremy knew enough that he might be able to put the pieces together. She couldn't let that happen. She couldn't let him tie her and Draco together. This needed to be kept a secret.

Jeremy would be so much happier not knowing any of this. Which was more important, knowing the truth or being happy?

Jeremy slipped his hand inside her shirt and moaned. The last thing she wanted was to make Jeremy unhappy. It was better to keep him in the dark than to do that. She was sure of it.


	8. The Other Side

Crepúsculo

Chapter Eight

The Other Side

Once the decision had been made, it was entirely too easy to continue. Entirely too easy for Ginny's feet to lead her to deserted hallways, to empty classrooms, to the room at the top of the North Tower where Draco was waiting. It was effortless, almost: she barely had to think of when she might find a free moment to be with him. Entire days seemed full of time to snatch away. And if she was neglecting her schoolwork, if she was sometimes late for Quidditch practice, no one noticed, no one said anything. It was November, now, moving quickly into winter, and people were beginning to retreat into themselves, to ask fewer questions. If that made it easier for Ginny to meet with Draco, she certainly wasn't complaining.

She was giddy every time she went to meet him, and every time she left him the only thing she could think of when they could meet again. She could not get enough of him. They could never meet for long, though. Much as she wanted him, Ginny was not stupid. They were being reckless enough as it was; there was no need to take unnecessary risks. Their encounters were always brief.

Except in the North Tower.

The paintings along the spiral staircase did not frighten Ginny any longer. They had become utterly familiar to her, now that she saw them nearly every day. At the top of the stairs the door was unlocked. Ginny pulled it open and entered, locking it behind her.

Draco was reading in the armchair by the fire, as he often did when waiting for her to arrive. He was always there before her, no matter how she hurried. She didn't know how he managed it. She half-wondered if he'd found a way to Apparate within the castle walls.

In contrast to the hallways the little round room was toasty from the fire. Ginny had on her thick winter cloak and layers beneath it, but Draco wore only a thin sweater and looked completely at ease. He hadn't even acknowledged her presence, but she was sure he was simply engrossed in his book. She didn't really mind waiting. In fact she enjoyed having this excuse to watch him. His face was molded into an expression of intense concentration. Unconsciously he tugged at the hair beside his ear, twisted it between his fingers. With effort Ginny resisted the urge to reach out and touch it herself, take his fingers in hers . . . But here in the tower room there was no rush. There would be plenty of time for that.

She took off her winter cloak and draped it over the table. Beneath the cloak she was wearing a jumper her mother had knitted for her, and below that her school uniform. Were it not for the Heating Charms on her skirt and stockings she didn't know how she would survive the winter. It was only the beginning of November now. She hated to think how much colder it was going to get.

But not in the room at the top of the tower. She took off the Weasley Jumper. She was wearing the one with a Gryffindor lion knitted on it, just like the one Mum had knitted for Harry for Christmas years ago. She'd begged Mum to knit her one just like it, which Mum had done, but then she'd been too embarrassed to wear it anytime Harry would be around . . . how silly she'd been. Next came off the school jumper, then the tie. She unbuckled her shoes. Finally, as she began to peel off her stockings, she felt Draco's eyes on her.

"What were you reading?" she asked, continuing to remove the stocking from her left leg. Deliberately she did it slowly, to see if she could provoke a reaction. At first it didn't look likely, but then, for the briefest of moments, Draco's jaw slackened. Inwardly she smirked.

"Arithmancy theory," Draco said finally, after she'd almost forgotten she'd asked a question.

"Fascinating," Ginny said, removing the other stocking.

"It was, actually."

Ginny moved her hands to her throat, began to unbutton her blouse.

"Here," Draco said, pulling her towards him. "Let me."

Teasing him with a bit of her leg, the hollow of her throat, had been one thing, but Draco's hands ghosting over her sternum, her breasts, was quite another. She closed her eyes for a moment, giving in to the feel of it. The blouse slipped off her shoulders. She arched her back to make it easier to remove and opened her eyes just in time to see Draco's face centimeters away from hers. He pulled her down on top of him and crushed his mouth against hers. Beneath her his body was hard and lean, and oh, how she wanted him. For the briefest of moments she knew that right now she would promise anything he asked . . . But then he was pulling off his jumper and unbuttoning his trousers and Ginny didn't think anymore at all.

-----

A week later it was so cold that the Heating Charms on the castle could barely keep the place above freezing. Dumbledore decided to redirect the strength of the charms into the classrooms and turn off the heat in the hallways entirely. The halls were always drafty in winter, but it was miserable going between classes now. Ginny took to wearing her dragonhide Potions gloves over her ordinary wool ones, and one day Cora even went so far as to wrap herself in her duvet for class. It was entirely unnoticeable beneath her winter cloak, except for the fact that it made her approximately three times her ordinary width and she kept bumping into people and doorframes. Ginny was a bit jealous: Cora's face looked distinctly less blue than it had the day before—at least, the part of it she could see through Cora's balaclava.

No one had the slightest idea what was causing this cold. It was the coldest it had been in the winter at Hogwarts in fifty-odd years, according to the school records, and it wasn't even December yet. There were all sorts of outlandish rumors going around: a volcano had erupted in the South Pacific and had thrown off the world's climate (except that Ginny was fairly certain the cold was Scotland-specific); Dementors were breeding (which caused cold, McGonagall had explained one day after growing sick of hearing students whisper theories to each other instead of taking notes, but also caused fog, of which they had had none, so would everyone please shut up and pay attention?); and even that the Dark Lord had cast a giant Freezing Charm on the northern part of Britain.

As for the third rumor, the method of causing the cold was unlikely enough—who had ever heard of casting a Freezing Charm over an entire region?—but even more bizarre was the notion that the Dark Lord was behind it. It had been well more than two years since Harry Potter had come out of the Third Task clutching Cedric Diggory's body and yelling that You-Know-Who had returned. Officially the Ministry hadn't believed him, but enough others had that it had seemed like maybe they'd stand a chance if the Dark Lord attacked . . . And then nothing had happened. For more than two years, there had not been a single sign of You-Know-Who. The Death Eaters Harry had named as answering to the Dark Lord's call were doing what they usually did, being solicitors or Ministry executioners or rich men who didn't work. Maybe there were still suspicions surrounding them, but that was mostly from the war that had ended sixteen years ago, not from anything new they had done.

It wasn't that people didn't believe Harry. It was just—if the Dark Lord had risen, where was he now? What was he doing? If he really wanted to rid the world of Muggleborns and take over Britain, why hadn't he tried to do so already?

Most people just weren't thinking about him anymore. Which was why Ginny was curious. What had made the Dark Lord appear in the realm of possibilities again? Was someone just overly imaginative, or was there more to it than that?

It just seemed unlikely that he would be back, and doing something like trying to freeze Britain to death. From everything Ginny knew about You-Know-Who, if he were going to return, he would do so in some overly dramatic fashion, exploding bridges or murdering Muggles. The volcanic eruption theory seemed more likely than that You-Know-Who was behind the cold, and that was really saying something. Mostly Ginny just hoped it would get warmer.

-----

On the third Friday in November it was so cold that Ginny was actually wearing her dragonhide gloves in class. It made taking notes significantly more difficult, which wouldn't have been such a problem were it not for the fact that Flitwick had specifically said at the start of class that this material was going to be covered on the final in June. Seeing as it was November and the idea of June was so far-fetched as to seem entirely improbable, Ginny wasn't particularly concerned about the final at the moment; but she'd been with Draco before class, in a tiny, freezing broom closet, and by the time she'd arrived the only seats left were the ones at the very front of the room, where Flitwick couldn't fail to notice it if she weren't dutifully recording every word of the lesson.

He was lecturing at an incredible rate this morning, too, which made her already-clumsy handwriting even more illegible. ". . . There are three main varieties of Influence Charms: Persuasive, Dissuasive and Strengthening. Persuasive Influence Charms work to convince the subject that he wants to do something he had not previously intended to do. Dissuasive Influence Charms convince the subject not to do something he had previously intended to do, and Strengthening Influence Charms move the subject's opinion further in the direction it already tended.

"An example of a Persuasive variant is a Desirable Charm, sometimes used in advertising. Muggle Repelling Charms fall under the category of Dissuasive Charms, and Strengthening Charms have historically been used in Ministerial elections to influence swing voters. There are serious restrictions on the use of all Influence Charms today, however, as Influence Charms can be considered Dark magic depending on the context in which they are used. The wizarding world could not exist as it currently does without Influence Charms, as they are largely responsible for preventing the Muggle world at large from learning of our existence; however, it should be noted that Influence Charms are the direct predecessors of one of the Unforgivables, the Imperius Curse.

"The main distinction between Influence Charms and the Imperius Curse is that Influence Charms are cast on an object with which the subject comes into contact—Muggle Repelling Charms, for instance, are cast on fences or buildings—whereas the Imperius Curse is cast direct on the subject himself. Also, the effects of Influence Charms end when the subject is no longer in contact with the object upon which the charm was cast, whereas the effects of the Imperius Curse end only when the countercurse has been cast upon the subject.

"However, before the creation of the Imperius Curse by Admalgius Filius in 1286, he and others developed some extremely dangerous hybrids. If you turn to page 327 in the text, you can see the most infamous of these hybrids, developed by Salazar Slytherin . . ."

Ginny fumbled with her Charms book. Flipping pages while wearing dragonhide gloves was nearly impossible, but she wasn't about to take them off. After a struggle she managed to get to page 382—wasn't that close enough?—then, with considerable effort, 297. 318 . . . finally, 327.

There was a column of text on the left, a picture at the top of the page and another on the bottom. Ginny didn't really notice what she was looking at at first, but then her eye caught on the picture at the bottom. Her breath stuck in her throat. There, in her textbook, was her necklace. It was unmistakable: the milky gray stone, the blue flecks, the intricate silver of the backing . . . With effort Ginny refrained from clutching at her neck. Instead she forced herself to place her hands on the table in front of her, to read the caption beside the picture:

According to legend, Salazar Slytherin used this necklace to seduce Rowena Ravenclaw, who had been in love with Godric Gryffindor, his rival. He gave the necklace to her as a gift. It was meant to have taken Ravenclaw's preexisting feelings for Gryffindor and shifted them towards Slytherin instead. Gryffindor purportedly learned what Slytherin had done, a discovery which further strained their already-crumbling relationship . . .

The necklace might have been used to other, more devious ends in the centuries since that time, but as far as history is aware, Slytherin's only use for the necklace was to make Ravenclaw fall in love with him.

There was more information down side of the page, which Ginny began to read: Walter of Brighton used another hybrid in 1134 to convince Meredith Black to marry him so that he could gain control of her family's lands . . . Slytherin's necklace passed out of the record after 1735, and some historians argue that it was nothing more than a myth from the start . . . Oh, it wasn't a myth; Ginny knew it all too well. She was wearing this myth around her neck, and she knew from the sinking in her gut that it wasn't a myth, that it couldn't be. She needed to tear it from her neck immediately, but she waited. She couldn't do such a thing in front of the class. She couldn't have that many witnesses. Thank goodness Jeremy wasn't in Charms with her: he would have recognized the necklace immediately. He would have Charms soon, though, and Flitwick would teach the same class, and he would see the necklace . . . but no, she had more immediate things to worry about; she would deal with that when it came up.

She looked down at her book, thinking to read more, but there was a commotion at the back of the room: Laraby Wilkinson was squawking behind her, flailing her arms wildly. Her sleeves and the desk in front of her were on fire.

"She was trying to keep herself warm!" yelled Mike, snorting laughter, as Flitwick rushed to the back of the room and began trying to douse the fire. Finite Incantatem only made the flames grow higher, but it went out quickly after Flitwick Summoned some water.

Laraby shrieked somehow even louder when Flitwick dumped water on her as she had when she'd been burning, and everyone else was yelling: casting Drying Charms on their clothes, laughing at Laraby's plight, yelling because everyone else was yelling and why not? It was easy for Ginny to slip out of the room unnoticed. There were still thirty minutes left in the lesson, but Ginny was fairly certain that they weren't going to get anything else done.

She didn't really know where she was planning to go until she found herself at the entrance to the North Tower. Draco came here often even during the day, she knew, but she knew also that he wouldn't be here right now: he had double Arithmancy on Fridays, and he never skipped that class. She had at least thirty minutes undisturbed—and for once, that was exactly what she wanted, was to be away from Draco. Because of this necklace . . .

Ginny closed and locked the door, though she had no fear that anyone other than Draco would come looking here. She slumped down in the armchair and told herself to calm down. She couldn't be sure yet that the necklace she'd seen in the book was really hers, could she? But no—the moment she'd seen it, she'd known. Who could have possibly given it to her?

She thought back to that morning on the Hogwarts Express, when Jeremy had picked it up off the ground and given it to her. "It must have fallen out of your pocket," wasn't that what he'd said? How did she know Jeremy hadn't given it to her, pretending to be unaware of its existence? He was a good actor, she knew. But no, it hadn't been Jeremy. Why would he have given her such a thing? She couldn't think of a single reason. Not only that, she knew Jeremy. He hadn't been lying when he'd said the necklace had fallen out of her pocket on the train; his surprise had been as great as hers.

Who else had she seen that morning? Cora, Maggie, Mike, Laraby . . . but she hadn't been close enough to any of them for them to have slipped a necklace into her pocket. She'd barely sat in the compartment for a minute before Jeremy had pulled her out into the hall. It couldn't have been any of them. And before that she'd been in the compartment with Harry, Ron and Hermione. The idea that any of them could have given it to her was laughable. One of them, in possession of a necklace created by Salazar Slytherin? She couldn't think of a more ridiculous idea.

There was always the possibility that it had been given to her by a random person, on Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters maybe, or in Kings Cross proper, before she'd gotten on the train . . . but that too was unlikely. She was only thinking that because there was another possibility, the most obvious one, and yet out of all people she most wanted it not to be him: Draco, of course. In truth, she had thought of him first, but she had wanted to exhaust all other possibilities before admitting it to herself. And much as she'd wanted it not to be true that it had been him, it must be. Who else could it have been?

She thought about the fight that morning on the Hogwarts Express. There was nothing abnormal about Draco Malfoy picking a fight with Harry and Ron, but when she thought about it now, there had really been no reason for the fight. Unless he'd been planning it as a distraction. Malfoy would have known that Harry and Ron couldn't resist a fight—not that that was a secret; Ginny rather suspected that the majority of wizarding Britain was well aware of that fact—and what better time to plant the necklace, than when everyone was preoccupied? She couldn't think of a specific moment when Malfoy would have done it, but he was sneaky; she had just missed it.

As to why he would have done it . . . She delayed the thought as long as she could, but it kept coming: what was the biggest thing that had changed in her life since September first? She had fallen in love with Draco. (The thought gave her pause, but as quickly as she had thought it she knew it was true: she had fallen in love with Draco, she was in love with him.) She could pinpoint the beginning of the whole thing exactly, too. Before September first there had been not a hint of such feelings, and even on the first, when Malfoy had entered their compartment, she hadn't felt anything other than the usual hatred for him. Only later, after she'd put the necklace on, had she felt anything different: that nausea during the Opening Feast. She'd looked at Draco and then she'd felt sick—surely she should have noticed the timing there, especially when Draco had followed her to the toilets afterwards. And yet at the time she hadn't noticed a connection between the events. How blind she'd been! Of course she wouldn't just fall in love with Draco Malfoy out of nowhere. Of course there would have been some sort of impetus.

But why would Draco (Malfoy, call him Malfoy) have wanted her to fall in love with him in the first place? What good would it do him if she were in love with him? That was the part that didn't make sense.

Ginny realized suddenly that through all of this musing she had been twisting the necklace around and around on her sternum, that she still hadn't taken it off. Her thought in Flitwick's class had been to rip it off her neck, but really there was no need for such dramatics. After Laraby's performance there had been enough of that for one day already.

Ginny reached around her neck and undid the clasp, catching the necklace and cupping it in her hand. The necklace was warm from her body heat. It was a pretty piece of jewelry but there was nothing extraordinary about it. Experimentally she placed it on the floor. She didn't feel any different, not touching it. Weren't you supposed to feel different, coming out from under the Imperius Curse? She knew this wasn't the Imperius Curse, not exactly, but if the necklace had been influencing her in some way, wouldn't she notice the lack of that influence?

Maybe she would only notice the different when she saw Draco again. The necklace hadn't had any effect on her when she'd first put it on, either. It was only after she'd seen him in the Great Hall that anything had changed. Maybe the same was true for coming out from under the effects of the necklace: she had to see Draco for things to change.

A sense of caution she hadn't known she possessed crept into her thoughts. She must not rush up to him and confront him about the necklace. If he had given it to her (and she knew that he had; she just didn't want to let go of the near-impossible chance that she was wrong) then she needed to be careful around him. Who could say why he had given her that necklace? She didn't know, but whatever the reason, it couldn't be good. And now that she was thinking of danger, dozens of other signs that she should have had cause to fear him sprang to mind, the incident in the Shrieking Shack foremost among them. Looking back at that now, it seemed impossible that she could have not been afraid of him. And yet she had gone to him every time he'd asked. Almost always she hadn't meant to go, and yet every time he'd told her to meet him somewhere, she had found herself in the North Tower, in the Weaponry Room, wherever he'd said. She hadn't thought about why she would go meet him. Why hadn't that seemed strange to her? Why hadn't she had the slightest bit of curiosity?

Two more things became clear to her: first, that she must do something with the necklace. She thought to destroy it, but she didn't know how, so for now she would hide it. Second, she needed to see Draco as soon as possible. She needed to be sure that it was indeed he who had given her the necklace. She knew already that it was true, and yet she needed to find it out from him. When she saw him she would know for sure.

She felt slightly better now that she had thought things through. Carefully she tucked the necklace into the bottom of her book bag and returned to her room, where she hid the necklace at the bottom of her trunk. Later she would come up with a better hiding place for it. Right now, she was going to find Draco.


	9. The Riddle

**Title:** Crepúsculo 9/11

**Author:** Katja

**Rating:** PG-13

**Pairing:** Draco/Ginny

**DISCLAIMER:** Not mine.

**Summary:** Things begin to fall apart.

**Author's Notes:** Thanks to Soz, as always. I've been writing this fic for about a billion years, so it's not based on anything past GoF canon, but it may contain some references to OotP and HBP.

**Crepúsculo **

**Chapter Nine:**

**The Riddle**

Of course, the one time Ginny really, truly needed to see Draco, he was nowhere to be found. She knew his schedule, knew he was free between Potions in the morning and Ancient Runes an hour later. Usually they put that hour to good use, but this morning she hadn't been able to wait the two hours until after class, and so they'd met before she went to Charms. It hadn't seemed so pressing to meet immediately afterwards as well -- she had enough self-restraint to resist _that_ -- but now she wished she hadn't had that attitude, because if she hadn't, she would know exactly where to find him now: in the old Muggle Studies classroom on the third floor. It was always deserted, and had become their usual meeting place on Fridays before lunch and on Tuesday afternoons. She went there now, just in case he'd gone there anyway -- but no, he hadn't. She hadn't really expected him to be there, but she'd hoped . . . It didn't matter. She'd find him sooner or later.

But throughout the rest of the day it was as if Draco knew she was looking for him and why, and was purposefully avoiding her. She couldn't remember the last time she'd gone so long without seeing him; not since a month ago, at the very least. She hadn't realized until just now how much she had come to measure time in terms of her encounters with Draco, but now she saw clearly that her days were divided by the blocks of time: how long until she would meet with him, how long until she would get to meet with him again. It was disconcerting, both to realize this and to be alone for so long.

Draco wasn't at dinner. It was Friday, so he wouldn't be doing homework in the North Tower afterwards, as he often did during the week. It had always been so easy to find him before, strangely so, now that she thought about it . . . but maybe that had been part of the spell on that necklace, making it easy for her to find him. She hadn't a clue how to go about contacting him. She could owl him, she supposed, but the message wouldn't reach him till breakfast and she didn't want to have to wait that long. But what could she possibly do that would be faster? She couldn't exactly just walk to the Slytherin Common Room and knock on the door, but short of that she didn't know what she could do.

After dinner she wandered around the castle slowly, without purpose. She still needed to see Draco, but she was beginning to think: wouldn't it maybe be better to just send him an owl, assume he'd get it at breakfast and deal with everything in the morning? This whole thing wasn't actually as pressing as she'd been making it out to be. She'd taken the necklace off; that was the most important thing. She would find Draco and confirm what she knew in the morning, and in the meantime she would go back to the Common Room and read or talk to Cora or do something else, something normal. Wandering around the castle like this wasn't doing any good.

She was a long way from the Common Room right now, though, and only heading further in the wrong direction. Abruptly she stopped and turned to head back towards Gryffindor -- and there, poking his head out of a door, so unexpectedly that Ginny at first thought she must have imagined it, was Draco.

He motioned to her and she followed him into the room, a classroom on a wing she'd so seldom frequented that she didn't even know what subject it was used for. Clearly it hadn't been used for much of anything recently; the desks and chairs were all shoved to the back of the room and everything was coated with a thick layer of dust. It was equally as cold as it was in the hallway, lending further credence to her theory that it was out of use: all the regular classrooms were at least a bit warmer, albeit not significantly so.

She didn't actually care what the classroom was like. She was just avoiding looking at Draco.

"Where have you been all day?" she asked, careful to keep her tone neutral.

"Busy," he said. "I've an essay for Snape; it's due on Monday and I wanted to be free this weekend for other things."

She could feel his eyes on her; she knew perfectly well what "other things" he was referring to. Still she did not look at him. The library! Why hadn't she thought to look for him there?

Because she herself never went to the library, and as he'd never mentioned going there she'd somehow thought that he didn't, either. But that was stupid; of course he must get all those books he was constantly reading in the North Tower from somewhere.

The weight of his gaze on her finally became too much to bear. Ginny turned, bracing herself for some revelation, some sign that the charm wasn't acting on her any longer, opened her eyes on him, and -- she felt nothing. Nothing was different. She saw Draco before her and the only thing she felt was how much she wanted him -- more than ever, if that was even possible.

She needed to find a way to get him to reveal that he had given her the necklace -- but how could she do that? She tried to think of ways to start a conversation that could be steered in that direction, but every thought she had seemed clumsy and transparent. She wasn't nearly adept enough for this sort of interrogation. She moved closer to him. Closer -- too close. He reached out and touched her.

She jerked away as if burned.

"What is it?" Draco asked.

"Nothing," she said. She might have better said, _Nothing has changed._ The way her wrist tingled where he'd grasped it, the flipping of her stomach -- surely if all of this were based on some charm, some curse, it would have changed now that the curse was gone. It would be gone now. She would go back to feeling what you would ordinarily feel when your worst enemy touched you: repulsion, disgust, certainly not this. Objectively speaking, Draco Malfoy wasn't a very attractive boy. He was pale and too angular and over bred, and yet she wanted him so much that it made him attractive.

Something occurred to her: the Charms book had said that Slytherin had used the necklace to make Ravenclaw fall in love with him, but it had never said that that was the charm's _only_ use. She'd just assumed it had been used to make her fall in love with Draco, and that Draco must have given it to her. But surely she wouldn't still feel like this if the necklace had been causing these feelings. Which gave rise to another thought: Draco must not have given her the necklace. She was in love with him because -- well, because she _was_. She'd been foolish before, thinking that there must have been some impetus to make her fall in love with him. She'd been thinking of falling in love as if it were like breaking a leg. You broke your leg because you jumped out of a tree when you were five and George told you it was possible to fly without a broom. There was a cause to it, and an effect, and it could be traced logically. But what was falling in love if not the most random of acts? She'd fallen in love with Draco because she _had_; that was all there was to know.

Which gave rise to a scary thought: if Draco hadn't given the necklace to her, then who had?

"Are you all right?" Draco said.

Ginny realized she'd been silent too long. She looked at him steadily, took him in. "Yes," she said, leaning into him. "Yes." She kissed his mouth, his neck, and as she did something became clear: she might not know who had given her the necklace or why, but she would figure it out. In the meantime, this -- Draco, her love for him -- this she could trust.

-----

Draco had wanted to keep the weekend free so he could be with her, Ginny knew, but on Saturday morning Jeremy cornered her. "I feel like I haven't seen you in days, Ginny. What have you been doing?"

"Homework," she blurted out, although she couldn't remember the last time she'd spent more than a few minutes scribbling something down the night before it was due or in the morning on the way to class. She'd gotten rather good at levitating a scroll of parchment while she walked and wrote on it, as of late.

Jeremy knew her ways a bit too well to accept homework as an explanation, she saw immediately from his expression. "You're right, I don't do homework," she amended. "I've just been distracted lately, is all."

Jeremy at first looked like he wasn't going to be satisfied with that, but then he smiled at her and said, "At least you're here now." And then he was kissing her and curling his hand along the back of her neck and she was trying not to think.

-----

As soon as it began Ginny knew she'd had this dream before. She was on the hill overlooking the castle grounds, beneath the great oak tree. In the tree were a raven and a snake. She recognized them instantly as the familiars of Ravenclaw and Slytherin. She also knew where she'd seen them before: in the tapestry in the secret room Cora had taken her to. She looked at the tree more closely and realized it wasn't a real tree at all; it _was_ the tree in the tapestry. She was in that hidden room, and the doors at the top of the stairs were locked; she was trapped . . .

As soon as she realized this, the dream shifted. She was in Trelawney's class, looking into a crystal ball. The air in the room was as thick and perfumed as ever -- anyone could think they were seeing things in this tower -- and when she looked into the crystal ball the images were murky: figures in black, cloaked and hooded; the glint of a knife; leaves on the ground; a burning tree . . . She'd seen these images before, that day in Trelawney's class two months ago -- but she wasn't in class right now. The room was empty, but she had a powerful sensation of being watched. She was filled with fear, but more than that, a familiar sort of dread . . . And as this feeling overtook her she realized that she recognized the burning tree in the crystal ball: it was the oak on the hill . . . And she realized that she recognized the fear, and its source --

Ginny awoke drenched in sweat. She'd had this dream every night for a week, and every time she woke up before she leaned what was causing her such fear. She wished she knew why she was dreaming about this. She was fairly certain she'd imagined the images in the crystal ball the first time in Trelawney's class, so why she was still thinking about them, she didn't know. Even if she hadn't imagined it the first time, why in the world would she believe something she'd seen in a _crystal ball_?

And yet in the dream she always recognized the source of her fear. That hadn't happened in Trelawney's class the first day. That first day she'd felt a chill, but terror? She hadn't so much as felt it, let alone recognized its source.

But then one morning Ginny woke up and knew exactly what was familiar about her terror. It was the same fear she'd felt her first year at Hogwarts, when she'd found blood on her hands and hadn't known how it had gotten there; when she'd awoken in the middle of the night to find him sitting on the edge of her bed, watching her. "Hello, Ginny," he'd said, reaching out to trace a line down her cheek . . . There was little of it she was awake for towards the end, but she remembered the way her skin had felt thin, transparent, the way she felt, even when she was aware of herself, that she wasn't entirely there . . .

The fear she felt now wasn't exactly the same. Five years ago she'd known something was strange; she'd known it and tried to stop it. She'd tried to get rid of the diary, and she might have succeeded if Harry hadn't found it. She hadn't dared let Harry keep it. She'd been incapable of stopping herself from going after it, then. When she'd written in it again, he hadn't been mad at her. He'd been amused. "You thought you could rid yourself of me, didn't you, Ginny? You cannot rid yourself of me. I'll never be gone." But Harry had destroyed the diary, had brought her back, and he _was_ gone; it had taken Ginny the better part of two years to be sure of it, but he was.

And yet she had never been afraid of anything else in this particular way, this seizing-up of her guts. He was gone, he _was_ -- but the creature he had grown into was not. That didn't make sense, though. Why would she be dreaming about You-Know-Who?

In the darker hours of the night, Ginny half-entertained such theories as that it was indeed the Dark Lord she was afraid of. He was the one who'd set fire to the great oak in her dream. Probably he was the one who'd given her the necklace, too, come to think of it. Who else would have access to a thousand-year-old Dark artifact? You-Know-Who was really the only explanation. As for how he'd gotten the necklace to her, that was obvious: he'd been hiding in one of the bushes outside the Burrow, and had slipped the necklace into her pocket as she was leaving for Kings Cross on September first. Maybe he'd even Transfigured himself into a bush. With arms.

When she looked at things this way it was easy to dismiss her fears as ridiculous. But the fact remained that she was waking up in the middle of the night with that same fear she'd lived in five years and ridiculous or no, it was making her nervous.

Maybe the fear had nothing to do with Tom Riddle. Maybe fear always felt like this. It was just that she'd never feared anything or anyone nearly as much as she'd feared what was happening to her during first year --and then, after she'd discovered _why_ it was happening to her, feared him.

She told herself that this was a separate fear, not a fear of him at all. She told herself that she was being ridiculous. But that didn't stop her from waking up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night, sheets tangled on the floor.

-----

The cold still hadn't broken. It was December now, but the temperatures were still far colder than normal. Stranger still: other than a few half-hearted flurries, it had yet to snow. The first snow should have come a month ago at least. By early December the Hogwarts grounds were always covered with snow. Waking up every morning to see nothing but brown grass outside their windows was making people nervous, and the rumors that this was an unnatural cold were flying faster than ever.

To make things worse, everyone opened the _Daily Prophet_ on December sixth to see that a witch had gone missing in Hogsmeade. Details were scarce, but it seemed she had been visiting family in the area. When the family woke up on the morning of the fifth, she was gone --she hadn't even taken her wand off the nightstand. The relatives were terrified to think what had happened to her . . .

The _Prophet_ reported on the morning of the seventh that the witch hadn't actually been missing at all. She'd met her boyfriend at the Hog's Head and spent the night with him; she'd simply forgotten to take her wand along or to tell her relatives where she was going. But by then the damage was done. Nervous students had owled home already and their parents had owled Hogwarts; supposedly a Hufflepuff third year's parents had even gone so far as to pull her out of school, take her home where she would be safe . . .

Hogwarts was meant to be the safest place in wizarding Britain, or at least that was what Ginny had grown up hearing. There was quite a bit of evidence to the contrary, and not just that putting hundreds of kids together in one castle was a disaster waiting to happen: there had been the diary during first year; Sirius Black second year; the Triwizard Tournament third year . . . But since then Hogwarts had been fairly safe, hadn't it? As safe as anywhere else, at any rate.

But there was a strange air in the castle recently, and people's level of panic over the missing witch reflected that. It was the cold, but more than that. There was an urgency, almost --a sense that something was coming, and soon. When Ginny thought about it, it made her shiver in a way that was entirely separate from the cold.

-----

After the discovery that Draco hadn't given her the necklace, Ginny was spending more time with him than ever. But cautiously: a week after the Charms lesson in which she'd learned about the necklace, Cora was in the Common Room as she was leaving to meet with Draco in one of the third floor classrooms.

"Where are you going?" Cora said.

"To meet Jeremy," Ginny said.

Cora looked at her quizzically. "Jeremy's got detention with Snape tonight," she said. "For blowing up his cauldron. He told us about it at lunch."

"Oh, right," Ginny said lamely. "I'd forgotten. I guess I'll just hang out here, then." And there had been nothing for it but to stay in the Common Room with Cora.

Draco found the whole thing amusing when she told him why she hadn't been there the night before. "You've got to learn to keep your story straight," he said with a smirk that threatened to turn into a smile.

"I can keep my story straight just fine," Ginny said. "It's not my fault Jeremy went and got himself a detention."

Draco's expression did turn into a smile. "I'm sure you can."

She lashed out at him in jest, and within moments they were kissing . . . Wasn't that how it had always been between them, fighting as another form of wanting each other? It had taken her a long time to realize it, but it was true.

After that, though, Ginny was careful about using Jeremy as her alibi. She began claiming that she was going to the library instead. She took her schoolbooks with her to the North Tower to add credence to her cover story. It was really too bad that she wasn't actually going to the library, looking at things from a purely academic standpoint. Her grades had been slipping steadily all semester; they could certainly use the help. It was a good thing her grades had been excellent to begin with, so she still had a while before it was going to be a real issue. As it was, well, a few As never hurt anyone.

Well. They might, in the form of her mother's wrath, but grades didn't really count until after finals, and finals weren't till June. That was a long way away. She would definitely pull her grades back up before then. Right now it just seemed silly to waste time that could be spent with Draco on getting a few extra points on a paper.

-----

Jeremy found her again that Monday, and went with her to a classroom so out of use that all of the desks were shoved to the back of the room. "Where have you been?" Jeremy said.

"Busy," she said. Busy didn't really begin to cover what she'd been doing with Draco -- what he was to her -- but it would have to suffice. It wasn't like she could tell Jeremy about it. "I'm sorry," she added, because no, busy didn't really suffice, she could tell from the way Jeremy was looking at her. "I know I haven't been around all that much lately," she said. "I really am sorry."

She wasn't lying -- she'd never meant to hurt Jeremy. Wasn't that why she hadn't broken up with him, to keep from hurting him?

Jeremy exhaled and pulled her to him. "Oh, Ginny," he said, "I've missed you."

She wrapped her arms around him and said, "I know."

When he drew back and kissed her, she did her best not to think. She kissed back, of course, but something about the kiss felt wrong. Not that Jeremy wasn't a good kisser, because he was -- but something about the whole thing just wasn't right. The placement of his hands on her back, maybe, the feel of him pressed hard against her . . .

She opened her eyes slowly. There was Jeremy's face against hers. Did his face always look so strange up close, the proportions all wrong? She saw a flicker of flight out of the corner of her eye: a mirror. The classroom they were in held a full-length mirror with strange markings around the edges in some language Ginny didn't understand. She saw herself and Jeremy in the mirror, kissing as they were -- and then the image changed. Ginny still saw herself kissing a boy, but it wasn't Jeremy anymore; it was Draco. Even as she continued to kiss Jeremy, she watched the image of herself kissing Draco . . .

And then Jeremy moaned and Ginny looked back at him. His eyes were still closed; he always kissed with his eyes closed. When she looked back at the mirror, it was Jeremy in the glass again.

She must have imagined the scene in the mirror, and yet what she had seen there was the only thing she wanted, was for Jeremy not to be here right now, but for it to be Draco instead. There was no reason to wonder why the kiss had felt wrong before: she'd been wishing for Jeremy to be Draco. Kissing Draco made want pool low in her belly, but lately kissing Jeremy just made her wish she were somewhere else. It wasn't that Jeremy's kisses had changed, that anything about him had changed, but something about her had, and she only now realized it: at the beginning she had felt guilty for cheating on Jeremy with Draco, but for some time now she had instead felt guilty for cheating on _Draco_ with Jeremy.

If this were Draco she was kissing, she wouldn't be able to think at all, she knew -- but since it was Jeremy, she found that her thoughts were clearer than they'd been in a long time. She couldn't keep doing this with Jeremy, she just couldn't. She hadn't wanted to break up with him before because she hadn't wanted to make him unhappy; at least, that was what she'd told herself. But that wasn't really why she hadn't broken up with him. She hadn't done it because she'd thought it would be easier to just continue doing things as they'd been doing them. And -- in the interests of honesty -- because she'd been using him as her alibi. She wasn't in the Common Room until well after curfew? She'd been with Jeremy, of course. It was convenient, having an out-of-house boyfriend as an alibi . . . It was terrible of her, and she knew it, but it was true.

And the worst thing was that she would have been perfectly willing to let it continue indefinitely, too. Would have, had she not realized she was in love with Draco. She was in love with Draco, and because of it she couldn't continue doing this with Jeremy. She'd been staying with Jeremy for all sorts of self-serving reasons, and she was a terrible person for it -- and it had to stop now, it had to.

Ginny had completely forgotten she was still kissing him. She pulled back; Jeremy moved to follow her, to pull her in for another kiss, but she held out her hands. "Stop," she said. "I can't do this."

Jeremy looked at her strangely. "Can't do what?"

"_This_," she gestured. "This whole thing. I can't do it anymore, Jeremy."

His expression became even more confused. "I don't understand what you're talking about," he said, and she saw that she was going to have to spell it out for him. Maybe she would even tell him the whole truth. Didn't she owe him that much, at least? She owed him a lot more than that, honestly, but the truth was all she could give him.

Ginny squared her shoulders and looked him straight in the eye. "I'm in love with someone else," she said.

And then the castle exploded.


	10. The Key

**Title:** Crepúsculo 10/11

**Author:** Katja

**Rating:** PG-13

**Pairing:** Draco/Ginny

**DISCLAIMER:** Characters belong to J.K. Rowling. They're not mine.

**Summary:** In which there is shit, and a fan.

**Author's Notes:** Thanks, as always, to Soz for betaing. I started writing this before OotP, so it only assumes canon through GoF. There might be an HBP reference or two in this chapter, though, if you squint.

**Crepúsculo**

**Chapter Ten:**

**The Key**

They were both thrown to the floor in the force of the blast. When Ginny recovered enough to pick herself up, she saw that the castle hadn't actually exploded: they were still in a classroom with four walls, a ceiling and a floor, though one of the windows had shattered and the desks that had been piled in the back of the room were scattered all over the place.

"What was _that_?" Ginny said.

"I don't know. Come on, let's see what's going on." Jeremy grabbed her hand and pulled her into the hallway.

"Jeremy," she began, but as soon as they were in the hallway it became clear that this really wasn't the time to be trying to have a serious discussion about their relationship: the entire population of Hogwarts was in the hallway, running and screaming.

"Come on, this way," Jeremy said, tugging her towards the nearest staircase, but the stairs had shifted, and in the rush of students coming up the next staircase -- although why you would be running _up_ the stairs when the castle was exploding, Ginny didn't know -- her hand slipped out of Jeremy's grasp, and then there was the shuddering and blasting of another explosion. Dust and bits of stone rained down from the ceiling high above them. Ginny ducked, shielding her head with her hands, and only then did it occur to her to wonder what was happening. Someone must be attacking the castle, but who, and why?

She'd lost Jeremy. He wasn't anywhere to be seen. A bit of panic set in at that: there was no one she knew anywhere near her and the castle was exploding --

-- someone gripped her gripped her around the waist. She screamed, but it wasn't as though anyone was going to hear her; everyone was screaming -- she whirled around and saw that it was Draco. She couldn't even say anything, she was so relieved. He was saying something, but she couldn't hear him over the roar. She gestured to her ear and he leaned close and yelled, "We have to get out of here!"

She nodded and he gripped her wrist tightly, far more tightly than Jeremy had -- tight enough to make her grimace, but it didn't matter; he wasn't going to let go and she was sure of it -- and pulled her through the crowd.

There were so many people in the hallways and so many things happening all at once that Ginny couldn't tell where they were going. Draco knew where he was headed, though. He pushed through the crowd with purpose, moving at an incredible pace and never slowing until all of a sudden he halted in front of a statue Ginny recognized, the statue of the humpbacked witch on the third floor. Draco pulled her out of the way of the crowd, took out his wand and said something Ginny couldn't hear over the noise, but the statue responded to it, shifting forwards just enough for a person to squeeze between her and the wall into the black space behind her that had to be a tunnel.

"Come on," Draco said.

Ginny hesitated for only the slightest of moments. She didn't know where the tunnel might lead, but anything had to be better than staying in this crazed mass of people, and she trusted Draco, didn't she? She slipped into the tunnel and Draco followed her, pulling the statue behind them so that it was completely dark in the tunnel.

"_Lumos_," Ginny and Draco said at the same time. In the light of their wands Draco smiled at her a little. There was something slightly off about his smile, almost like it was forced, but then he turned and said, "Let's go," and started walking.

"Where does this lead?" Ginny asked, following him.

"Honeydukes," came his reply.

They didn't talk after that. After the pandemonium in Hogwarts the silence of the tunnel was unnerving. Ginny wished they hadn't stopped talking, but when she tried to say something the words couldn't make it out of her mouth and how could this tunnel still be going and would it never _end_?

Finally the tunnel floor began to slant upwards, and then they hit a set of stairs. At the top of the stairs was a trapdoor, which Draco slowly, carefully pushed part of the way open to peer around, then pushed all the way open and climbed out. "There's no one here, you're fine," Draco called to her, and Ginny climbed up after him.

They were in what had to be the basement of Honeydukes, which was full of bright-colored boxes labeled with the names of all sorts of sweets, but Draco hardly spared a glance for the room before starting up the stairs towards Honeydukes proper.

"If anyone asks, we were wondering if they had more Ice Mice in the back," Draco said, then opened the door.

He needn't have bothered with the cover story, though: the store was just as deserted as the basement had been. There wasn't so much as a single salesperson in sight.

"Odd," Ginny said to herself, but when they left the store and emerged onto High Street the reason Honeydukes was empty became clear: everyone was outside, staring in the direction of Hogwarts. It was impossible to see the castle from here because of all the trees, but there were great crashing sounds coming from that direction, like a herd of giants was throwing boulders at the castle -- and who was to say that wasn't what was happening? Ginny desperately wished she could see what was going on . . .

Draco, however, seemed to have had enough of staring at the trees. "Come on," he said, taking her hand and leading her down High Street.

"Where are we going?"

He didn't reply. She thought to ask again, but it became clear soon enough as they neared the Three Broomsticks and made a right: rising up before them was the Shrieking Shack. There was something different about it, just now, than every other time Ginny had seen it, something sinister; her first thought was that it had become more itself, but that didn't make any sense. There was something emanating from the house, though, some kind of liveliness . . . Draco spelled away part of the fence surrounding the house and led her towards it. The closer she got, though, the more Ginny found she didn't particularly want to move any nearer . . .

"Do you know what this house is, Draco?" she asked, thinking of a day in mid-September, the last time she'd been here, and his words then: _Different from anything you've ever thought it, I'm sure._

Instead of answering her question, Draco said, "Do you trust me?"

"Draco--"

"Just tell me, Ginny."

There was something strange in his eyes, something almost like regret, and she was feeling worse about the whole situation by the minute, but she said, "Yes. I trust you."

The regret was clear in his eyes now, and she wanted to ask him about it, but they'd stepped into the yard of the Shrieking Shack and Draco turned and spelled the fence back into place. And that was when it occurred to her: why hadn't they just gone through the gate? What need had there been to spell away part of the fence? But she just stood there and watched him do it --

-- and when they turned back around there were four figures in black robes, hooded and masked, standing in front of the Shrieking Shack. Death Eaters, she realized with a start; who else could they be? She recognized the costumes from the Quidditch World Cup the summer before third year. That was the only time in her life she'd ever seen a Death Eater, and even after what had happened to Harry during the Third Task of the Triwizard Tournament she'd thought she never would again . . . How foolish of her. The Dark Lord hadn't disappeared like they'd all been hoping; he'd just been biding his time . . .

"Well done, Draco," said one of the Death Eaters, a woman with a cruel voice. "It's nice to see that the family's been holding its own while I've been gone."

"Don't praise him yet, Bellatrix," said another of the Death Eaters, a tall man. "He's not done yet, as I understand it."

Ginny thought to run away, but she was paralyzed to the spot. Only then did it register: Draco wasn't even trying to get away from them. It took her a moment to realize what that meant. But she saw the set of Draco's shoulders, remembered his words (_do you trust me, Ginny?_), remembered too the look of regret on his face, and then she knew: he had brought her here on purpose. He had brought her to these Death Eaters on purpose.

She felt like there was something more she should be understanding, something else that should be obvious, and yet her mind felt sluggish, as if it were moving at half the usual speed. There was something more going on than Draco simply having known the Death Eaters were going to be here, though. Her next thought sucked all the air out from around her head: there was a familiarity to the way the Death Eaters had spoken to Draco that didn't seem normal. What if he was one of them, too?

No, he couldn't be. If he were a Death Eater, he'd have a Dark Mark, that terrible brand on the left forearm. Ginny knew his body better than she knew her own, and knew that he wasn't Marked. And yet he was in the company of Death Eaters, and he wasn't running away, and they knew him. It couldn't be, and yet obviously it was: there was even some task he'd been given that he'd completed successfully, at least in part . . .

Why was she so slow to grasp what was going on? What had been Draco's task? She felt like she should have figured it out ages ago. Maybe the lack of air around her head was the problem.

And then she realized: she _had_ figured it out ages ago. It was the necklace. Somehow it had to do with the necklace. And that meant -- there was even less air around her head than before -- that it had to do with _her_.

There was a cruel, high laugh from the woman, Bellatrix. "Putting the pieces together, are you?"

Ginny glared at her.

"It's no use trying to escape, you know," said a different Death Eater, a short man with a voice that reminded her, oddly, of a rodent. "You wouldn't get anywhere."

"Much as it pains me to admit it, you have a point, Wormtail, for once in your sniveling existence," said the last of the Death Eaters. "Although I suppose maybe we should take her wand. _Accio!_"

Ginny had had her hand on it, but it slipped easily out of her grasp. As she turned to watch her wand fly into the Death Eater's outstretched hand she caught a glimpse of Draco. He didn't so much as acknowledge her. He was the only one of them who wasn't wearing a mask, but his face was so devoid of expression that he might as well have been. _Who are you_, Ginny wanted to ask, _and what have you done with Draco?_

After the sluggishness of her thoughts for the past few minutes, the speed with which the answer came to her was surprising: this wasn't Draco in front of her. This was Malfoy. This was the boy who'd terrorized her in her first year, who'd been her enemy and her family's since time immemorial. This was Malfoy, whose father was a Death Eater, who worshipped his father, who clearly was following in his father's footsteps . . . She'd been stupid to forget he existed. Just because he'd been Draco for her didn't mean Malfoy was gone. No, it was clear that Malfoy was still alive and well . . .

He spoke for the first time since the Death Eaters had appeared. "Is he here?"

From the emphasis in his voice, there was no need to ask who Draco -- _Malfoy_, Ginny told herself firmly -- meant.

"It's not going to happen _here_," sneered the tall Death Eater.

"Of course not," said Bellatrix. "It's nowhere near visible enough."

Even though Bellatrix's head was turned, Ginny was sure the words had been directed at her.

"I assume you know where to meet him," Malfoy said.

"Of course," Bellatrix said smoothly. "Really, Draco. After all this time, we wouldn't want to mess things up, now, would we?" That had been directed at Malfoy: there was something almost goading in her tone.

Draco's mask didn't falter, but Ginny could feel his uncertainty nonetheless: he didn't have any idea what Bellatrix was talking about.

Damn it. Not Draco. _Malfoy_. This was Malfoy. Draco couldn't be doing this.

"I also assume there's a signal of some sort?" Malfoy said.

Right on cue, the woods between Hogwarts and Hogsmeade burst into flame.

Bellatrix grabbed Ginny by the arm. "Someone give Draco the coordinates," she said, and suddenly Ginny felt very much as if she were being squeezed through something much too small for her to fit through it -- _Side-Along Apparition,_ she thought; it had to be --

The world righted itself suddenly and Ginny stumbled when her feet hit the ground. The Death Eaters caught her, prevented her from falling forward. She was disoriented at first, but then she knew where he was: the hill overlooking the castle, beside the big oak . . .

The tree was burning. She was surrounded by hooded figures, and that was when she knew: it was the same as it had been in her dreams, as it had been in the crystal ball; she hadn't imagined it at all.

There were a dozen Death Eaters or more standing in a circle near the burning tree. Bellatrix and the others joined them, shoving Ginny into a spot in front of them, towards the middle of the circle. As they moved her she caught the briefest of glimpses of the castle: it was shuddering as if it were being hit by a series of enormous objects, and the loud crashing noises had not let up, but there was nothing that she could see that was hitting it . . . But then the Death Eaters had forced her to turn away from it and she didn't dare look back.

For a moment nothing happened. But then there was a hissing in the air, as if all the wind were being drawn in one direction, and then, with the pop of Apparition, more figures appeared: a dozen of them at least, all hooded and masked, save one: the Dark Lord. She had known he would come, she had _known_ it, and yet until this moment she had not been afraid, but her guts twisted in fear now. In no way did the snake-faced creature on the hill resemble the Tom Riddle she'd known from the diary, but the fear was the same, and it made it so that she could look at the bald thing before her and see Tom . . .

"Draco Malfoy," rasped the Dark Lord, "you have done as I asked."

"Yes, my lord."

_My lord_ . . . She had already known, but that drove it home. _My lord_.

"Bring her forward."

Malfoy gripped her by the wrist, as tightly as he had in the hallway, and pulled her forward. His arm was trembling -- she realized that he was gripping her so tightly because he was nervous. She felt that she was detached from these events, observing the proceedings from somewhere outside of her own body. Malfoy was nervous. What did he have to be nervous about?

He brought her forward to the Dark Lord, who observed her keenly. Because she was watching from outside her body, she was able to stand unwavering beneath his gaze; she was able to hold steady as he traced on of his fingers down the line of her cheek, coming to rest beneath her chin.

"Ginny Weasley," said the Dark Lord. "You've always been so impressionable. You enjoy being manipulated, don't you?"

Being outside of her own body, Ginny had no way that she could reply.

The Dark Lord smiled at her. It was a terrible smile: the snakelike nostrils stretched wide, and it didn't look like there was enough skin to cover his face. "Draco Malfoy," he said, "you have done well."

"Thank you, my lord."

"You have done everything I have asked of you thus far. But there is one more thing I would ask, before you may take my Mark."

"Yes, my lord?"

That terrible smile did not fade. From the air he procured a knife, the glint of silver from the dreams, the crystal ball . . .

"Prove your loyalty," the Dark Lord said. "Kill her."

Somewhere in her mind Ginny was aware that now was the time to struggle, to fight for her life. And yet from her vantage point far from all of this, the only thing she could do was stand there stupidly, was wait.

Malfoy took the knife from the Dark Lord and turned to her. She looked at him, and he was as close to her as he would have been if she'd been in her own body, though she was still detached from all of this. The mask was still over his features as he raised the hand that wasn't holding the knife, placed it on her shoulder -- to keep her steady, she thought. He raised the knife. A strange thought came to her: _If this is what he wants,_ she thought, _then let it be so_.

He raised the knife and looked at her. His face was still blank. His eyes were on her but for all the expression in them he might not as well have been looking at nothing at all. The knife was at her throat -- it was too late for her to resist, too late for anything at all, and still that strange thought was in her head: _If this is what he wants, then let it be done_. But why hadn't he done it? Why was it taking so long? She knew she was seeing things more slowly than they were actually happening, from this vantage point high above it all, but she wasn't imagining this: Draco was hesitating . . .

There was a flurry of sound, a succession of pops, a volley of curses, people who weren't Death Eaters, a flash of light out of the corner of her eye and a blossoming pain and all was black.


	11. A Number of Truths

**Title:** Crepúsculo 11/11

**Author:** Katja

**Rating:** PG-13

**Pairing:** Draco/Ginny

**DISCLAIMER:** Characters belong to J.K. Rowling. They're not mine.

**Summary:** Dumbledore explains it all.

**Author's Notes:** Since I started writing Crepúsculo in 2002, it only incorporates canon through GoF, so you'll find various inconsistencies with later canon in this fic. Among other things, Dumbledore's still alive, as you might have noticed from this chapter's summary, and Ginny's name is Virginia rather than Ginevra. Continuing the trend from Chapter Ten, this chapter contains an HBP reference. Huge thanks to Soz for betaing all the way through.

**Crepúsculo**

**Chapter Eleven:**

**A Number of Truths**

When Ginny awoke she was propped up in a bed in the Hospital Wing with Madam Pomfrey peering at her. "About time that potion started working," she said. "How are you feeling?"

Ginny considered. "My shoulder--"

"It got hit with a fairly nasty hex, but it should mend just fine. The Healing Draught will work more quickly now that you're awake."

Her shoulder was stiff and felt as though it might rip apart if she moved too quickly, but already the pain was lessening. Her mouth, though, felt like it had been stuffed with cotton. "Could I get some water?"

Madam Pomfrey said, "Of course," and fetched a glass for her. "The Headmaster asked to be informed when you woke up," she said. "I'll just be a moment. If you need anything, ring the bell beside your bed."

"Okay," Ginny said -- and suddenly it all came back to her: the explosions, the tunnel, the Shrieking Shack, the Death Eaters, the hill . . . "Wait!" she called out. "What happened?"

"The Headmaster will explain things, dear," the nurse said, and went into her office.

Ginny remembered all of what had happened, but trying to think about what it _meant_ was too monumental a task to manage in the thirty seconds Madam Pomfrey was in her office. "The Headmaster will be here in just a moment."

"Thanks," Ginny said, doing her best not to think about anything at all. She concentrated instead on the light coming through the curtains, a bright morning sort of light. The last time she'd been awake it had been towards the middle of the afternoon . . . She was back to thinking about things again. It was better to let her vision go fuzzy and not concentrate on anything at all.

Ginny had no idea how long she spent not thinking before the door to the Hospital Wing swung open and Dumbledore strode in, Professor Flitwick following him.

"Good morning, Miss Weasley," said Dumbledore, walking up to her bedside. "I understand you have some questions for me, and I shall do my best to answer them, but would you mind if Professor Flitwick cast a diagnostic charm on you first? Madam Pomfrey said she was detecting some curious traces of magic on you, and she wanted Professor Flitwick to check them out for her as soon as you were awake."

"Er, of course, that'd be fine," Ginny said.

Dumbledore smiled at her. There was something a little too kind and understanding about his smile, but before she could work out what it was Flitwick had stepped up to her, touched his wand to her temple and said, "_Revelus_."

It didn't feel like anything, but when Flitwick drew his wand away there was a blueish bit of mist clinging to the end of it. Flitwick observed it with interest but it was Dumbledore who said, "I believe you're in possession of a rather remarkable necklace, Miss Weasley, are you not?"

Ginny did her best not to gape at him. That was what had been too understanding about his smile before: he'd known before Flitwick had even cast the charm that she'd had that necklace. How Dumbledore managed to be so aware of everything that went on in the school, Ginny didn't know. She nodded at him.

"The Ravenclaw necklace, Albus?" Flitwick said faintly. "Do you mean it's still around?"

"I believe so, Filius, yes," Dumbledore said. "Where is it right now, Miss Weasley?"

"In my dormitory, sir. At the bottom of my trunk."

"It's important that we have it here, I believe. Filius, if you don't mind . . .?"

"Of course," Flitwick said, and left the infirmary.

"You said you would answer my questions after Flitwick had cast the charm, sir," Ginny said. And she certainly had a million questions, but the more overarching of them was simple: what in the world had happened yesterday?

. . . If it had even been yesterday that it happened. Ginny realized she had no way of knowing how long she'd been unconscious.

Dumbledore gave her the same smile as before, the slightly off one. "That I did. I'm afraid I can't follow through with that until after we're finished with the necklace, however."

"Could you at least tell me what day it is, sir?"

"Tuesday, December sixteenth," Dumbledore said.

She'd only been out for a part of a day, then. Dumbledore didn't offer any more information than that, however. Luckily it wasn't long before Flitwick returned, pulling the necklace out of his pocket. "I taught about this necklace in the sixth year classes a few weeks ago," Flitwick said, dangling the chain between his fingers and staring at it wonderingly. He turned to Ginny. "You were there for one of those classes, weren't you?"

Ginny nodded.

"How long did you wear it?" Flitwick asked.

"I found it at the start of term -- on the Hogwarts Express, that is," she said.

"Found it?" Flitwick interrupted.

"It fell out of my pocket," Ginny started to explain, but Dumbledore said, "We'll get back to this, Filius. Please continue as you were, Miss Weasley."

Ginny nodded. "That day you taught about the necklace, I took it off. So I was wearing it for . . . a few months, I guess. The thing I never figured out, though, was what it was doing to me."

"What it _is_ doing to you," Flitwick said.

Ginny's blood turned to ice. "What do you mean?"

"Yours was the class that got interrupted by Miss Wilkinson setting herself on fire," Flitwick said. "I never finished that lesson properly, what with getting her to the infirmary. I'd just begun talking about the intermediary charms that led to the development of the Imperius Curse, had I not?

"The difference between Influence Charms and the Imperius Curse is that Influence Charms are tied to an object, whereas the Imperius Curse is cast directly on the subject. The intermediary charms, however, are hybrids: they are cast upon objects, but after the subject has been in contact with the object for a long enough period, he or she no longer needs to be in contact with it for the charm to work."

Ginny thought she was going to be sick. She tried not to think about what this meant, but it was too obvious to suppress: Draco _had_ given her the necklace. The fact that she'd still been in love with him after she'd taken the necklace off hadn't been inarguable proof that he hadn't given it to her -- even after she'd begun to second-guess herself, she'd always known somewhere, deep-down, that he had, that it was true. It was just when she'd gone to Draco that night and she'd still been in love with him, it had made her doubt herself enough that she'd convinced herself that he hadn't given her the necklace, which was what she'd so badly wanted to believe . . .

"You wore the necklace for nearly three months, didn't you?" Flitwick said.

"Sounds about right." Her voice was scarcely louder than a whisper.

"With a charm that powerful, even a few weeks would have been enough," Flitwick said.

Dumbledore looked at her kindly, a little sadly. "It's about time we got you out from under that curse, don't you think?"

"I guess so, sir," Ginny said. She thought maybe she should have some sort of feeling about it, one way or the other, but she didn't really care. Draco had given her the necklace -- Malfoy, she remembered. Draco wouldn't have done something like that. Or maybe he would have. It had seemed so important to her, yesterday, to distinguish between the two of them, but she found now that she didn't much care which of them had done what. Was there really a difference between them at all?

"Filius," Dumbledore said, gesturing Flitwick forward.

Flitwick touched his wand to her temple. "This shouldn't hurt," he said, "but it might be a bit uncomfortable."

"All right."

"_Abscondus_," said Flitwick.

An enormous pressure began to build inside her head. Flitwick was right: it didn't _hurt_, not exactly, but it didn't feel good, either, and she wished it would stop . . .

As suddenly as the pressure had come, it vanished. When she'd taken the necklace off, Ginny had expected there to be an immediate and obvious change in her feelings, and there hadn't been then -- but now there was. It was as if some mist that had been in her mind before had disappeared. There were two sections of her memory now, divided as clearly as if there'd been a wall between them: the memories of the past few months as she'd experienced them on one side of the wall, and on the other side of the wall another set of memories, the memories of the past few months as they'd actually been . . .

"We should do something about the necklace as well, I think," Dumbledore said.

"Yes, of course," said Flitwick. He cast a variation of the same charm on the necklace. It flashed brilliantly for a moment and then dimmed. There didn't seem to be anything too very different about it afterwards, but now Ginny was certain that it was nothing but a necklace, nothing she needed to fear. She'd be happy if she never saw it again, all the same.

"Is your head all right?" Flitwick asked.

Ginny realized she'd been rubbing her temple unconsciously. "Yes, of course."

"I think a Pensieve might be in order," he said.

Ginny gripped the chair tightly, but before she could think of how to protest or even what, exactly, it was she'd be protesting, Dumbledore said, "No, I don't think that will be necessary. Thank you for your help, Filius. I'll firecall if anything else arises."

It was clear from Dumbledore's tone that Flitwick was dismissed. Flitwick didn't argue. He bowed his way out of the door graciously.

After the door was closed, Dumbledore said, "I hope I wasn't being presumptuous in saying that you didn't need a Pensieve."

Ginny wasn't sure how to explain the overwhelming relief that had come over her when Dumbledore had turned down Flitwick's offer, so she settled for saying, "I wasn't exactly sure what I'd have been using it for, sir." Though now that she'd said that, she thought she had a pretty good guess.

"I suspect Professor Flitwick thought it might be helpful for you to remove one of the sets of memories in your head," Dumbledore said evenly. "There are some who would say that keeping two sets of memories in your head at once is dangerous. I don't necessarily disagree, but I do think that you should at the very least examine them before removing them, if indeed you choose to do that at all. You could examine them now, if you like. I think it would be beneficial if you did so before we discuss anything else."

Flitwick and Dumbledore had distracted her for a while, but now that Dumbledore had said that it reminded her of all the million questions in her head. Dumbledore must have seen something of that in her face, because he said, "I promise that I will do my best to answer any questions you might have, Miss Weasley. But please trust me that I wouldn't be holding back if I didn't think it was important that you do this first. You may find that you can answer some of your own questions first by doing so."

"All right," Ginny said.

"Do you need some privacy?"

"No, I don't think so," she said. And she didn't. She remembered some of what this was like from first year, and the rest of it came to her easily enough: retreating into herself, comparing the new memories of what she should have seen to what she actually remembered. The new memories were strange, but she'd known to expect that. It was like looking at someone else's memories entirely, and yet they were hers; they'd been in her head all along, in some hidden impartial place that she hadn't been able to access, that she hadn't even known about. In these memories that were hers and also weren't, it was so easy to see: she'd been right about the necklace. Draco _had_ given it to her. Of course he had.

She didn't need to look at all of the memories, though; she didn't realty need convincing. She pulled herself out of her concentration and looked at Dumbledore.

"I think," Dumbledore said, "that it might help if you told me what you know."

And this, too, was familiar: she'd done this before, nearly five years ago. After Harry had brought her out of the Chamber of Secrets, Dumbledore had sat her down in his office and asked her, kindly, to tell him what she knew. She'd been terribly ashamed, then, of what she'd done, and of what Tom had done through her. Early on it had been hard to tell the difference. She'd known all at once that Tom was gone, but it had been a while before her memories had coalesced so that she could tell what was true and what she'd merely convinced herself was true. Telling Dumbledore about Tom, then, had been confusing and embarrassing, but after a while she'd fallen into the rhythm of it, and that had made it better.

Coming out from this curse, though, had been nothing like that, and this time she was able to find the rhythm immediately, was able to distinguish between the two sets of memories and glean from them what she needed to make her story complete, or as complete as she could. She told of the fight on the train -- in the new memory, she could even feel the moment Draco's hand slipped into her pocket and dropped the necklace there, the moment just before he slammed hard into her and everything went black. She told of Jeremy discovering the necklace, of the kiss on the train (it should have been embarrassing but it wasn't, not when she was caught up in the rhythm of telling her story), of the Opening Feast and Draco's eyes on her and how she'd felt ill, of the kiss in the bathroom . . . It all seemed so strange and distant, these things that had happened so long ago to someone who might as well have been another person.

She told of her relationship with Jeremy, of the progression with Draco that had led, inescapably, to the kiss in the North Tower, from which there could have been no going back . . . She told of everything she could remember, right up to the circle of Death Eaters under the tree, to the Dark Lord handing Draco the knife, and found that she could tell no more.

But Dumbledore didn't push her. He looked at her calmly and said, "I think I can take it from here. Voldemort has been using the Shrieking Shack as the gathering point for his power for quite a while now, months if not longer. It was right under our noses and we were too blind to see it. I suppose we'd all become complacent." He tried for a smile, but his face was too worried for it to work. "The explosions you felt were the waves of energy coming off the Shrieking Shack. Voldemort's power had grown so much that the house couldn't contain it any longer. He would have known that it would happen, and just when, it seems, and he was here for it. He was powerful enough that he was able to override the protections around the grounds, along with his followers . . ."

"But why did he want me dead?" Ginny said.

"He tried to kill you five years ago," Dumbledore said. "Or the part of him that was in the diary did. One thing I knew about Tom Riddle, when he was younger, was that he didn't like doing things partially. I imagine part of why he chose you was that he wanted to finish what he'd started."

Ginny was doing her best not to think about how close she'd come to dying. She was fairly sure she didn't want to know the answer, but she couldn't keep herself from asking, "And what's the other part?"

"Ah," Dumbledore said. "I don't suppose you know very much about how one goes about becoming a Death Eater." That really didn't require a response, and Dumbledore didn't wait for one. "As I understand it, the final step to becoming a Death Eater requires that one give up something that he loves in order to prove his loyalty to Voldemort. It seems that you were to have served that purpose for Mr. Malfoy."

Ginny blanched. "What stopped it from happening?"

"Harry Potter."

Of course. Who else could it have been? Just because it had been a couple of years didn't mean Harry would have forgotten that rescuing people from evil was practically his job.

"Harry's always had some sensitivity to Voldemort's presence," Dumbledore continued, "and he had the good sense to realize that something big was going on when the castle started shuddering. He got outside of the castle and felt Voldemort nearby. He was able to disrupt what the Death Eaters were doing long enough for your brother and Miss Granger to catch up to him and help, and some of the other Gryffindor seventh years weren't far behind. The Death Eaters fled. You were quite lucky, Miss Weasley."

"Did Harry and the others stop any of the Death Eaters?" she asked, which was the closest she was going to come to asking Dumbledore if Draco had gone with them.

"All of them fled," Dumbledore said, and she suspected that he knew exactly what she wasn't saying.

Ginny nodded. She wondered how she'd gotten herself back into the pattern of falling under an evil influence and being rescued by Harry Potter. It was really time to try something new, wasn't it?

"Professor Dumbledore," she said, wondering why she felt the need to tell him this, "Dr -- Malfoy didn't kill me right when the Dark Lord said to. He hesitated."

Dumbledore nodded.

"You don't think he knew ahead of time that the Dark Lord was going to ask him to kill me, do you?"

"I doubt very much that candidates to become Death Eaters are told ahead of time what their initiation will entail."

"Do you think," Ginny began, and paused. "Do you think that Draco would have followed through with it if Harry hadn't arrived?"

Dumbledore was silent for a moment. "I don't think that young Mr. Malfoy is a killer," he said finally.

Ginny didn't know if he really meant it or if he was just saying it to make her feel better. It didn't really matter: it was what she needed to believe. Because there was something she hadn't told Dumbledore. Flitwick's removal of the curse had worked; she could easily tell the difference between the memories she remembered living through and the memories that Flitwick's removal of the curse had given her. She could look at the set of memories she'd lived through and see exactly how she'd fallen in love with Draco, how the progression of events had gone . . .

But when she looked at those same events in the set of memories she'd just acquired, the set of memories unaffected by the curse, she could see that even without the curse, she would have fallen in love with Draco. _Had_ fallen in love with Draco. The curse was gone, but the curse needn't have been there in the first place: the only real purpose the curse had served was to get her around Draco, to convince her that she needed to be around him -- but after a while the curse needn't have been there even for that. She would have gone to him anyway. The curse had been lifted, but in spite of it all, she was still in love with Draco Malfoy.

Something occurred to her. "Professor Dumbledore," she said, "what was the point of him giving me the necklace in the first place?"

Dumbledore's brow crinkled in thought. "The Death Eater initiation calls for you to give up something you love," he said finally. "I imagine it might be more difficult to do so if that something loves you in return."

Ginny puzzled that one over for a minute. And then it clicked. The only thing in her entire experience with Draco that she hadn't been able to reconcile after looking at the second set of memories was that first evening, that night in the Great Hall when she'd looked at Draco and become sick -- when he'd followed her into the bathroom and kissed her. Every other time they'd kissed, right up until the moment she'd admitted to herself that she wanted him, it had been some sort of manipulation, designed by one of them to mess with the other, but there had been none of that in that first kiss. He had kissed her because he wanted her, nothing more. At the time she hadn't realized what that meant, hadn't had any idea, but now it was clear: Draco must have wanted her before he'd ever given her the necklace, before he'd ever been told to do whatever it was he'd been told to do. Draco had wanted her before all that.

The incident in the bathroom had been the only time he'd slipped up, and she'd been too ill to notice it at the time, but in retrospect she saw that it was true: Draco had wanted her all along. She knew what the attack on Hogwarts and her near miss with death meant: there was a war on now, finally, inevitably. There was a war, and Draco's actions, his escape with the Death Eaters, meant that he'd ended up on the opposite side of it from her. But that one simple fact, that Draco had wanted her from the start, gave her the hope that maybe one day, after all this was over, he would find her again.

**THE END**


End file.
